Down Came Heaven
by LilithiaWR
Summary: The job was supposed to be easy, in and out of the Conclave without getting caught. Waking up with the key to world salvation stuck on her hand was NOT part of the plan. Between cranky templars and mages shooting sparkles out of their asses, Lavellan wanted no part in saving the world. Fate, however, had decided to make her its nanny. F!DalishRogue, sarcasm and dark humor galore.
1. Prologue

**Full Summary:**

 **She had long ago accepted her lot in life: a street-rat, sucked into the shadowy and bloody underworld of the world, fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of food and breath of life. She was never meant to be a hero – she was a thief and a killer. And while she has since learned better, she knew that she could never wash the blood from her hands. So she ran – she ran and ran, until she was found by Keeper Deshanna. Taken in by the Dalish, she shed her past life and was born anew. Born as Lavellan.**

 **When the Conclave explodes and the Breach is opened, she awakens with the key to world salvation attached to her hand and only vague memories that might implicate her as the culprit behind the attack. Suddenly she is responsible for uniting the nations against the mysterious forces of the Breach and saving the world, while attempting to hide her true identity from prying eyes. But secrets have a way of coming to light.**

 **Fem/Rogue/Sarcastic elf, Dalish origin (kinda)**

 **Main Pairing: Lavellan/Solas (rivalmance, slow burn)**

 **Genre: Adventure, Humor, Drama**

 **Warnings: Dark humor, language, violence, and Sera's awful puns**

* * *

 ** _Somewhere along the Orlesian coastline, 6 months prior to the Conclave_**

 _The autumn wind howled through the trees of the Jader hills, rustling the leaves so that they hissed like a swarm of angry insects. It carried with it the scent of brine and sea, skimming off of the Waking Sea, just north of the western Heartlands of Orlais. Here the soil was thin, sitting atop a layer of clay and sand, which meant that there was sparse foliage beneath the branches of the salt-bleached trunks of the coastal forest._

 _A cloaked man stood at the tip of a cliff, the rocky outcrop jutting out of the hills and overlooking the Waking Sea as it roiled and shuddered. Black clouds hovered above the grey and murky water, the sound of distant thunder heralded coming storm, the waves tossing and turning as if anxiously anticipating a tempest of grand proportions._

 _The gale snatched at the man's cloak, revealing oiled and worn leather armor, adorned in metal plates which were nicked and scarred from past fights. The same wind ripped away his hood revealing a middle-aged human male with tanned skin and angular features that were evidence of his handsome youth. He had curly raven hair, slicked back and pulled into a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck, and eyes that were grey like the stormy sea and just as violent, his gaze stern and cold. The haughty expression on his face, and the scars on his hands, told of a cruel and calculating man, the glint of a knife in the shadows, the promise of death in the night._

 _Footsteps sounded behind him, delicate yet determined._

 _His lips curled at the familiar footfalls._

" _My little shadow." He drawled as he turned to face the elven woman that stood behind him. He recognized the long black braid that lashed in the wind like an angry lion whips its tail, and the spark of cold fury that made her forest green eyes alight with violence. Ah, some things never changed._

 _And yet, the rest of her was far from the girl he had once known. His eyes roamed her figure without lust, merely studying the changes she had endured in their time apart._

 _Most outstanding were the tattoos which now lined her face – although he had to admit, she wore them well. The arcing lines flowed over her aristocratic features as if to highlight her high cheekbones and tall nose, artistic in their simplicity. It surprised him, as he had always thought of the Dalish as uneducated, backwater peasants, amusing yet pitiful in their attempts to grasp onto a glory long lost. He couldn't help but chuckle at the Dalish armor that she wore, a shoddy replacement for the masterful armor she had once worn while under his command. She had even abandoned the swords that he had given her, exchanging them for the second-hand bow and arrows which were sheathed on her back._

 _Despite this, certain aesthetics gave away her foreign origins. Her skin was a golden tan, far more than any southern elf, and certainly any Dalish. Her movements belied the extent of her training, displaying stealth and skill which no Dalish could accomplish. Her face was without expression, save for the emotions which shone through her eyes. Everything about her was carefully measured and controlled, immediately distrusting of the world. Despite her age, she was already world-weary, far too jaded to be some naïve Dalish peasant._

 _His greatest creation. A gem hiding among the pebbles in the sand. Some things never changed._

 _She tensed at the sound of his chuckling, a snarl on her face._

" _Have you had your fun playing pretend, feminina?" He asked with an expression of amused condescension that one might wear when humoring a particularly stubborn child. "Is being a Dalish everything that you thought it would be? Danced naked under the moonlight, perhaps? Offered human hearts up to their dead gods? Running through the trees barefoot?"_

 _The elleth bared her teeth in a snarl. "What do you want, Talav?"_

" _Your actions have been tolerated thus far, but now it is time to return to your duties, feminina." He offered his hand and spoke in a low tone, as if soothing a wild animal. "Come."_

 _She barked out a laugh, and then spat at his feet. "Never." She hissed. "Never again."_

 _The man narrowed his eyes, his aura turning black as the winds picked up and howled around them, thunder rolling in the not-so-distant sky._

" _Such disobedience..." He murmured in a dangerous tone. "I thought I taught you better than that. Foolish girl."_

" _The person I was before is dead." Her eyes narrowed as well, cautiously bending her arm behind her to grab the handle of her bow. "I am now Banal'ras of the Lavellan Clan. And never again will I submit."_

 _At this the man burst into full-blown laughter, a deep and ominous bellow that seemed to echo the clap of thunder and flash of lighting behind him. He glared at the impudent elleth and sneered at her audacity._

" _You are no Dalish!" He jeered at the elf, his gaze scorning the crude armor and weapons that she wore. "Just a little girl masquerading under yet another mask! But no matter where you go or who you pretend to be, you cannot change the past. So why bother?"_

" _Like you could possibly understand." She scorned in a cold voice, her temper tightly leashed despite the anger evident in her eyes. "You have no conscience, Talav."_

" _So you would wallow among these filthy barbarians?" He sneered. "Don't be foolish. Do you think they would still accept you if you told them about the things you've done? Or would they abandon you, out of fear and loathing?" Her lack of reply was an answer in itself. "Come back to where you belong, feminina."_

 _She scowled and unsheathed her bow, nicking an arrow and falling into a defensive stance._

" _I'd rather die than go back." She said in a low voice, grim determination on her face._

 _He regarded her with a smug look, not even flinching at the sight of her weapons, unfazed by her apparent willingness to fight. He did not even bother to draw his own weapons. His confident expression clearly unnerved the elleth, her eyes flickering with nervousness, glancing around them as if searching for some hidden trap. Ah, she knew him too well. He always had something up his sleeve, always a backup plan. It was what made him a very, very dangerous man._

" _You seem to be expecting something." He drawled with an infuriating smirk. "You are well aware of how I play this game."_

" _There is something else…" She murmured, and despite the whistle of the tempest winds, she failed to hide the slight tremor in her voice from him. "Why have you not drawn your blade, Talav?"_

 _His smirk grew as he clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk towards her, stopping so that the tip of her arrow was an inch from his chest._

" _As you might have guessed, I did not come here unprepared. I have, in fact, been spying on you for some time." He watched her face fill with dread, a sick pleasure curling in his stomach. "You seem to care about that little Dalish clan very much, feminina."_

" _Don't you dare touch them!" She snarled, pressing the arrow to his chest, the tip pricking the leather of his armor._

 _He did not flinch._

" _Nor did I come alone." He continued, his smirk evolving into a cruel grin as she froze, face going pale._

 _Now he slowly pushed her bow and arrow down, and she allowed him to without resistance, arms falling to her sides as she removed the arrow and held the bow limply. Her eyes were glaring furiously at the ground, gritting her teeth as she battled with her emotions._

" _It's touching, really." He spoke off-handedly as he began to circle her. "You are so familiar with them. Far more friendly than you ever were with your comrades back home."_

" _The clan is my home now." She protested, but her words were without bite._

 _He smiled condescendingly at her, again as if humoring an unruly child. "You are very close to their leader in particular. What do the Dalish call them? Oh yes, a 'keeper'. Quite a wizened mage, the Lady Deshanna, but she would not be very challenging compared to others I have fought."_

 _She spun around to glare at him, clenching and unclenching her hands anxiously, but she did not raise her weapon. Good girl. She knew better than to challenge him._

" _And the mage apprentice… hm, what was her name… Mirath?" He chuckled as she tensed even more so. "Such a lively girl. I'm sure the boys would just love to play with her. Make her scream a bit."_

" _You –"_

" _Not to mention the children." He continued, circling her like a wolf circles its prey. "It would be a shame for them to die so young, hm?"_

 _Now her shoulders slumped, and her eyes went dead with defeat._

" _P-Please…" She whispered. "Leave them out of this. They don't know –"_

" _Since when has that ever mattered?" He interrupted with a shrug. "Innocent people die all the time. Only the strong survive."_

 _There was a long silence, stretching between them as she struggled with herself. No doubt the elf was attempting to think of a way to outsmart him. It was a fruitless endeavor, however. He had her trapped, and she knew it._

 _Finally, after a pregnant pause, she spoke._

" _What would you have me do, Talav?" She asked, voice low and miserable, eyes shadowed by her messy bangs._

 _He grinned. "Let's make a deal, hm?"_

 _She glanced up at him warily._

" _One last job." He held up a finger. "If you refuse or fail it, I will kill the clan and drag your sorry ass back to the city. But if you complete it, your precious Dalish will remain unharmed… and you will have your freedom."_

 _She held her breath for a moment, staring at him in equal surprise and suspicion. "…I'm listening."_

 _He smirked and pulled out a tightly wrapped scroll, handing it to her. She accepted cautiously, tugging the ribbon off and unrolling the parchment with quick efficiency. Her eyes skimmed across the words, gradually widening as they went lower and lower down the page._

" _Y-you… you want me to…" She shook her head in disbelief._

" _Kill the Divine." He hummed in dark satisfaction. "And you are free."_

* * *

 **Author's Note** **: Whenever we play Dragon Age games, all the companions have some dramatic or dark back story. Leliana is a conflicted bard who dedicated her life to the Chantry in repentance. Alistair is the bastard son of the Ferelden king. Fenris was the ex-slave of a Tevinter magister. Anders swallowed a spirit and was consumed by its power.**

 **But the main characters are always so clean. Untouched. It's like they popped up out of nowhere (ignoring the fact that we create the character).**

 **But I like gritty characters – flawed with past sins, selfishness, and regrets. So I did.**

 **I hope you all enjoy this story. It may start off a little slow, but it will speed up, I promise. I've also a prequel and sequel in mind, so this will be quite the project. Please leave reviews! Support really inspires my writing.**


	2. No turning back

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Dragon Age original plotline, characters, or games. These are all the property of the amazing Bioware team, and I am merely a fan reveling in the beautiful and intricate world that they have built.**

" **Talking"**

' _ **Thinking'**_

* * *

 _ **And so it begins...**_

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

.

 _._

 _._

 _Ugh…_

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _What… What happened?_

 _._

 _._

 _._

She could feel cold, damp stone pressing uncomfortably against her legs, her ankles and wrists heavy. When she tried to move, she heard the clink of metal and felt something resist her movements. Her thoughts were slow, sluggish.

.

.

.

 _Where… am I…?_

 _._

 _._

 _._

Her head felt like a herd of druffalo had stampeded through it.

"The prisoner is waking! Go fetch the Lady Seeker!"

 _A… Seeker?_

She scrabbled to keep a hold of consciousness, but it slipped away.

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Someone is coming…_

She squeezed her eyes shut once, and then twice. After a moment of forceful blinking, her vision began to clear and sharpen. She appeared to be the same prison cell that she had woken up in before – _and still surrounded by twitchy soldiers… wonderful…_ – and currently all four of her limbs were shackled and linked to heavy chains. It wouldn't be too hard to escape them. She'd done it before; she just needed to wait until the guards left.

As she gazed down at her cuffed hands, she studied the green glow that was cradled in the palm of her left hand that had appeared while she was unconscious. The strange glow of the light cast her tanned skin into a sickly pallor, flickering lazily. During her first interrogation, the stupid man had attempted to touch the thing, and unsurprisingly, got zapped. He had beaten her for that, thinking that she had somehow willed it to do so.

To be honest, she had not really cared about the abuse at the time, too preoccupied wondering why the hell her hand was now a fucking nightlight. A tingly feeling – the kind people get when they lose feeling in their limb – was her only warning before the little light suddenly spark, and a zap of energy jolted through her veins like static shock.

She gasped and jerked back, as if she could escape her own limb. Well… that was a first. And it did not feel good. At all.

Immediately the guards in attendance drew their swords and aimed them at her neck, but remained at a cautious distance. At that moment the heavy metal door of the prison swung open, and a feminine shadow strode in. A longsword hung from the woman's side, she wore battle-worn armor and boots, and the aura of tension that seemed to linger in the air. Another woman followed, entering at a more sedate pace and regarding her with hawk-like eyes, the serenity emanating from her eyes only heightening the perceived danger. This one was dressed as a rogue in a hood and a tunic which covered her light armor. Both were human.

Dark green eyes regarded them carefully between the limp black strands that fell into her face. Her braid must have fallen out at some point, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulder and making her appear more ragged than she already was, pitch black hair spilling across her bruised back until the tips skimmed her waist. She watched them with a stoic face, not betraying her anxiety.

The first woman said nothing to her at first, barely giving her enough time to glance at her face before she was circling around the prisoner to where she could not see.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now."

Her shoulders stiffened as her interrogator leaned over her shoulder and threatened her in a low voice. Pointed ears twitched at the proximity. Her accent was northern, with pursed vowels reminiscent of Orlais or Nevarr, although the heaviness of her consonants leaned more towards Nevarran in origin.

"The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead." The woman's voice wavered the slightest bit on the last word. "Except for _you_."

Finally, a bit of information! She felt her eyebrows fly upwards as she contemplated their meaning. Dead? Everyone? As in the entire Conclave? But how?

 _No, no, it wasn't supposed to happen this way…_

Her silence must have lasted longer than appreciated, because suddenly her interrogator shot out her hand and yanked her arms up by the cuffs, holding up the hand that was pulsating with a sickly green light.

"Explain _this_."

The problem was, she had no idea how to explain _this_. She had no idea what _this_ was! She remained silent, unable to give an answer. Confusion mixed with frustration as questions whirled through her head too fast for them to form in coherent thought.

"I already told the previous interrogators that I know nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada." She drawled blandly, knowing that they would not believe her. "Apparently visions of scary monsters and glowing women are not considered much evidence."

Her interrogator snarled as she rounded on her almost violently, grabbing her by the collar. "Why you impudent – !"

"We need her, Cassandra!" The redheaded woman caught the other's arm and pushed her back and away from the prisoner.

There was a pregnant pause between the three women, the two standing glaring down at the one in shackles. The one called Cassandra glowered at her while the redhead turned to regard their suspect with an unreadable expression. Their prisoner remained oddly silent, studying them both with cautious curiosity.

"Do you remember what happened?" The rogue asked. "How this began?"

Ah, and they were back to the _this._ Whatever _this_ was. She rifled through her memories, but came up against a wall. Frustrated, she began to scour her mind for the first thing she could remember.

.

.

 _Before the Conclave._

 _The Dalish. Lavellan._

 _Talav, and a piece of parchment heavy with emotion… Dread._

 _Crossing borders and sneaking into town._

 _Crawling in the rafters high above the heads of clerics, mages, and templars alike as they gathered under a single roof._

 _Their leaders called for a break and then left the room –_

 _And she was running._

 _Panting, sweating, fear coiling in her gut, while screeches and hisses chased her, the sound of clicking and snapping on her heels. There was a steep hill, a light at the top – escape! – and so she climbed, pushing her tired body to its limits, pumping adrenaline, her thighs burning, hands scrabbling for purchase on the steep slope._

 _A woman. Golden hands reaching out for her. Stretching, stretching, just a little more –_

 _._

 _._

And there was that damned wall again. Nothing. Just simply nothing. It was as if there was a blank slate where the memory should be. Not even a sound or a smell that she could at least associate with it. She grit her teeth at the unexpected wave of helplessness that gripped her.

Convinced that they would simply label her a madwoman and either execute her or let her rot in an underground cell for the rest of her life, she sighed and reiterated her vision to them with a resigned expression.

"A woman?" The hooded redhead repeated, sounding slightly mystified. "Of light…?"

Cassandra drew her partner back and they convened closer to the door, leaning their heads together, although their suspect could still hear them just fine thanks to her pointy ears. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift."

She furrowed her brows. ' _The rift'? What's a rift?_

The redhead – Leliana – exited the prison after one last glance over her shoulder, leaving the prisoner at the mercy of Cassandra. As the door swung shut, the warrior was already approaching the shackled elf and, to her surprise, knelt down before her. Cassandra pulled out a key from her pocket and began unchaining the prisoner. The elven woman stared back at her, bewildered.

"What _did_ happen, exactly?" The prisoner finally asked lowly, attempting to hide the nervousness in her voice.

"It…" Cassandra seemed to hesitate. "Will be easier to show you."

 _Uh-oh_. That bad huh?

The prisoner followed Cassandra out of the dungeon, up the stairs, and into a rather short entrance hall. There were guards standing at the end, on either side of the wooden double doors. They stared at her suspiciously, glancing pointedly at her unshackled hands, bound only by a rope – which could easily be slipped off, mind you, dainty elf-hands and all, but since it made the angry masses feel more secure, she kept it on.

Cassandra glared at the guardsmen when they hesitated from opening the doors for them. "The prisoner is with me. Open the doors." She commanded impatiently.

Apparently the woman's threats were valid, as the men quickly snapped to attention and finally opened the entrance. A blast of icy wind chilled her face, snowflakes whirling into the hall in its wake. Cassandra pushed her forward, and she stumbled into the snowy landscape.

A blinding light pierced her eyes as she stepped out, making her wince and flinch away. Immediately it occurred to her that it was supposed to be late evening, and the sun should not be that high. Glancing up, she felt fear pool into her stomach as a neon green light hovered in the sky, casting an unnatural glow across the land, the clouds swirling ominously around it like the eye of a storm (and there was that word 'ominous' again, she knew it would be a bad thing). Green smoke seemed to trail up from the ground into its center, and around it were floating pieces of debris that looked to be giant rocks. She'd hate to be the person standing under them when that came down…

"We call it 'The Breach'." Cassandra's voice interrupted her musing. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour."

How ominous. Again. She was sensing a pattern here.

"It's not the only such rift." The warrior woman continued. "Just the largest."

 _Oh great, there are more_. _Yay_.

"All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

 _There was an explosion at the Conclave?_ She tore her gaze from 'The Breach' and focused on Cassandra with wide eyes. "What kind of explosion can do _that_?"

Cassandra shrugged. "This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

Well, that certainly put a damper on things. Swallowing the world? Her gut told her there was more to it than that. Not that she did not acknowledge that the Breach was a threat, but she highly doubted any one person truly understood the true significance of the Breach so soon after its creation.

Suddenly the Breach pulsated, sending out a shockwave that could be felt even at their distance. As the green light exploded, the thing on her hand sparked violently and suddenly burned with magic. It felt like her hand was being scalded, like holding heated metal. The pain lanced up her arm and throughout her body so fast that she did not have time to smother her pained cry. She doubled over, falling to her knees.

"Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads…" Cassandra knelt next to her and looked her in the eyes. "And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

 _Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine…_ She thought sourly.

She gritted her teeth as the pain receded, the last of the spasms dying away. Glaring holes into the ground below her, she realized that there was no escape now. She couldn't run back to the clan now, couldn't hide from the disaster like she had with the Blight. This… this _mark_ … she was literally bound to this. Whatever _this_ was.

 _Fate is such a bitch._ She thought ruefully. _Blast it all! It wasn't supposed to happen like this… This isn't my problem!_

Except that it was. Her selfishness could not save her now.

"I guess there isn't much choice." She growled, looking back up at Cassandra.

The warrior frowned at her reluctance, but helped her back to her feet anyway. Cassandra kept her hand wrapped around her upper arm as they walked through the camp. The people glared suspiciously at the prisoner, with mixed looks of blame and disgust. Their gazes burned on her skin, making her neck prickles at the tension.

"They have decided your guilt." Cassandra told her unnecessarily. "They need it."

 _Let's be honest, they are only looking for a scapegoat._ She thought ruefully.

"The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry." Cassandra continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for –"

 _Blah, blah blah._ She tuned out the warrior, already quite aware of the origins of the Conclave and its objectives. Again, this really wasn't her problem. And she would rather that it never became her problem. Humans only ever seemed to fuck up the world – and just when people thought that they couldn't do any worse, they did. After all, there had never been a problem with mages and magic before Tevinter and Andraste. It was said that during the time of Arlathan, all elves had the gift. Idly, she wondered what a society based on mages would have been like – surely they did not fear magic so blindly as Andrastians did.

 _Wishful thinking._ She reminded herself.

Reaching the edge of the camp, they crossed a bridge, which seemed to connect to the road that led to where the Conclave had once been. The guards at these gates did not need Cassandra's prompting to open the gates, however they still gave the prisoner dirty looks.

"We lash out, like the Sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did." Cassandra murmured from behind. "At least, until the Breach is sealed."

 _Yes, because sealing the Breach is the key to world peace._ She thought cynically.

They paused in the middle of the bridge as Cassandra pulled out a medium-sized dagger and approached her. The immediate reaction was to go on the defensive, but upon noticing the warrior's gaze upon her roped hands, she relaxed.

"There will be a trial." Cassandra told her as she slid the blade beneath the rope and cut upwards. "I can promise no more to you."

She resisted the urge to snort. Trial her ass! She was a knife-ear, they didn't get fair trials. The Chantry did not change its mind once it was set, and this time it was set in her guilt. Especially a 'dirty Dalish' such as herself. Just one look at the tattoos on her face and her fate would be sealed.

"I have a name." She muttered to Cassandra, keeping her eyes glued to the red rings around her wrists.

"What?" The warrior turned back to her.

"My name." She rubbed her wrists soothingly as she looked up to meet Cassandra's gaze. "My name is Banal'ras Lavellan."

Now that her hands were free, she pushed her straggly hair out of her face and straightened her clothes, standing a little straighter in an attempt to regain whatever was left of her pride.

"But you can just call me Lavellan."

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.


	3. Meet the Team! (Or, who NOT to stab)

"They said you… _stepped_ out of the rift. Then fell unconscious." Cassandra explained to Lavellan as they headed in the direction of the now-destroyed Conclave. "They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

.

.

 _The air was heavy, filled with a deep thrum accompanied by the clicks and shrieks of the monsters behind her. A golden hand reached out to her, a figure draped in light, her only hope…_

 _._

 _._

"Everything farther into the valley was laid waste. Including the Temple of Sacred Ashes." Cassandra's voice broke her reverie. "I suppose you'll see soon enough."

Lavellan shook her head to rid herself of the broken memories filtering in. _Boohoo, I don't care about the urn of blessed dust and allergies. I mean ashes. Whatever._ Honestly, why were the ashes of a burned body considered holy? That was a dead person in there! People were weird.

Cassandra led Lavellan across another bridge as they ventured deeper into the valley. The closer they got to the Breach, the more frequently debris would fall from the sky, alit with a green glow like a strange comet. One of these falling stars crashed into the bridge ahead of them. The soldiers cried out in panic as the stone trembled beneath their feet and began to crumble.

Lavellan gasped as the ground gave out underneath her, flailing her arms out in a desperate attempt to regain her balance. It was a fruitless effort, as she tumbled forward in an ungraceful heap and felt the bricks digging into various body parts on her way down. Luckily, instinct kicked in as the ice below them rushed up to meet her, and she rolled as her body hit the solid water, minimizing the impact.

Her head shot up to take in her surroundings, shaking the hair from her eyes. _Would the world please stop falling apart?!_ She snarled inwardly. _Andruil's knickers!_

Another green light was incoming from the sky, accompanied by the gradually increasing sound of crackling fire. The sickly comet crashed through a rock ledge and continued into the frozen river, shattering the ice. That made her and Cassandra scramble to their feet, its proximity worrying.

As the green smoke and glittering ice dust cleared, Lavellan felt her breath catch as a shadow emerged from the fading sparks.

 _Holy shit holy shit._ Her thoughts raced in panic. _That's a shade. Like, a fucking demon fucking Fade shit!_

A growl emanated from one of the shades, twin points of light pricking the impenetrable darkness of its hood, a black void where its face should be. Wisps of smoke curled up from its form, its hands tipped with long claws, its body moving sibilantly.

 _B-But that's impossible!_ Her eyes darted back and forth between the demon and the Breach. _They shouldn't exist physically outside the Fade without a host. They_ _ **can't**_ _. I_ _ **know**_ _they can't!_

However it appeared that logic was refusing to cooperate with her on that day. Cassandra swung her shield in front of her and drew her sword. With a war cry, she rushed at the shade, slamming into the first one with her shield.

A crackling at her feet alerted her to the arrival of another green-glowy-portal-thingy (it was called a 'rift' right? Yeah, that sounded right…). Lavellan cautiously backed away from the glowing circle as green energy condensed around it and suddenly a dark, puke-green crystal shot out from it with the sound of clanking metal. The crystal retreated back into the magical circle, leaving behind… another shade.

 _Tits of Andraste!_ She swore inwardly, backing away and cursing her helplessness, glancing around for anything that could help her fight this stupid thing.

 _There!_

Scattered among the wreckage of the soldiers' things, were two blades. Highland dirks. Nearly tripping over her feet, Lavellan skittered across the ice and over to the daggers. She slid the last few feet across the ice and snatched up the blades, quickly weighing them in her hands.

 _Ugh, crappy iron and covered in nicks._ Their previous owner had clearly not taken any care for them. But whatever, they were sharp and pointy, and right now she really needed something stabby to defend herself with.

The shade that had followed her growled and lashed out. Lavellan was already moving, ducking under its wide reach and sliding a dagger across its side in her wake. Coming up behind it, before it had the chance to register her escape, she stabbed it through the back. But its back gave way easily, the dulled blade penetrating its ragged robes. Much to Lavellan's growing disbelief, the lack of resistance that met her blow meant one thing: no flesh.

 _What the –?_

The demon swirled around and swung its arm in an arc, swatting her away like a fly. She landed on her butt and skidded across the ice. The creature snarled and began to approach her. The elf leapt to her feet, blades still in hand, and began to dance around it, dodging its claws and littering its body with cuts and lacerations. A normal person would have bled out by now.

 _How do you kill something that has no body!?_ She thought in frustration.

The shade swung around and lunged for her. She ran forward to meet it, and dropped to her knees at the last moment, sliding underneath the demon across the ice. Leaping up just as the monster turned back to meet her, Lavellan snarled back at it as she sunk both daggers hilt-deep into the darkness where its face should have been. The shade screamed and burst into smoke, its rags falling to the ground as it seemed to sink into a puddle of ink before that too went up in smoke.

 _Huh. Well I guess that answers that question._ She poked the remaining rags cautiously, catching a whiff of rot and decay. Lavellan wrinkled her nose at that and turned around to check up on Cassandra.

Just in time too, as she caught the warrior woman slide her longsword completely through the middle of the first shade, impaling it easily. The woman withdrew her sword and scowled down at the pile of rags left behind by the demon.

Lavellan sighed and cautiously approached her. When the Cassandra noticed her approach, her eyes flickering to the blades in her hands, she rounded her sword upon the elf.

"Drop your weapons. _Now_." She ordered.

 _Oh for fuck's sake!_ Lavellan bit back a rather scathing comment. Instead, she tightened her grip on her blades and met Cassandra's gaze resolutely.

"If you're gonna drag me through a demon-infested valley, I'd rather not." She snapped.

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, and then nodded stiffly. She straightened and sheathed her sword. "Fine. It is better this way. I cannot protect you."

 _There, that wasn't so hard, was it?_ The snarky thought was her only consolation. Lavellan refrained from saying anything more, however. Her tongue had a bad habit of getting her into trouble.

Cassandra began to walk back towards the bank of the river. When they reached the path, she paused and sent her an apologetic glance. "I should remember that you agreed to come willingly."

Lavellan studied the human woman for a second, and then slowly nodded. It was as close to an apology as she would ever get. It said much about Cassandra's character. Lavellan knew that if she had been in Cassandra's place, she would not have shown nearly so much trust in a stranger, regardless of the impending doom.

After the warrior woman presented a few health potions to Lavellen, the two of them began crossing through the wilderness and deeper into the valley. Cassandra told her that their forces had gathered at the forward camp, overlooking the Breach. No one knew how to get rid of it – but at the same time, no one was willing to leave it unobserved.

Lavellan was not uneducated on the subject of magic. She knew that demons could not exist in the real world without a host. Very few non-magic folk would ever see the true face of a demon in their lifetimes. For these shades to be popping up everywhere meant that the Fade was not just torn – the veil between this world and the next was thinning.

The two women fought their way through the throngs of demons as they approached a ruined cluster of buildings. Anything that wasn't made of stone was on fire, while the cries of men and shrieks of demons filled the air. Cassandra and Lavellan came up from what appeared to be the back of the small village, coming to a short ledge that overlooked a small battle between the local militia and the shades. Above them hovered a ball of green light – a rift.

Cassandra immediately leapt down into the fray, Lavellan following behind her. Idly, the elf noted that someone was shooting ice bolts at the shade, and wondered at the fact that these soldiers willingly fought next to a mage, despite how suspicious people were of magic these days. As the last of the demons were cut down, she felt the mark on her hand pulsate in tandem with the rift above them. She approached the rift, and was intercepted by a tall and bald elven man holding a mage staff.

 _Ah, so this is our mage friend_.

"Quickly! Before more come through!" He exclaimed, grabbing her hand and thrusting it up and literally _into_ the rift.

 _Hey! Personal space!_ She thought just before her mark came into contact with the rift. _Shhhhit!_

Lavellan gasped. The magic flowing in and around the rift flooded her being, coalescing around the mark. The thing on her hand acted like a magnet, drawing the magic into itself and in turn, closing the rift. It was again accompanied by the feeling of energy jolting down her arm, like a static shock, except this time she was holding onto a bolt of lightning. It zapped up through her arm and traveled into her body, down to the tips of her toes, making them curl.

As the rift seemed to suck itself closed, she found the strength to break the bond between her mark and the magic. She ripped her arm out of the elven man's hold, glaring at him as she pointedly cradled her arm to her chest, the muscles still spasming and trembling from the touch of magic.

"A little warning would have been nice." She growled at him. Geez, did he even know if that would work or not? She could have been sucked in! Still, the fact that her glowing hand was somehow connected to those rift-things was unsettling.

Her eyes flitted to the empty air were the hole into the fade had once been. "What… What did you do?"

" _I_ did nothing." The elf shrugged. "The credit is yours."

He gave her a small smile, his eyes crinkling. She watched him for a moment, narrowing her eyes at his placid answer, resisting the urge to slap the buffoon. His expressions were well-practiced, but far from genuine. She knew a fake smile when she saw one – but there were more important matters.

Such as the annoying spark of ugly green on her hand.

Glancing down, Lavellan uncurled her fist and wiggled her fingers, watching as the light seemed to hover just beneath the skin, yet its sparks did not burn or cut as they leapt out.

"You mean _this_?" Again with the 'this'. Lavellan held up her hand, keeping it away from her face as she narrowed her eyes and scrutinized it. Then she jiggled her hand a bit, flopping it limply, the weird light-thingy bobbing up and down with it.

The elf did not look amused.

"Whatever opened that Breach in the sky also placed that mark on your hand." The elf informed her. "I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct."

 _Bu - Wha – You –_ _ **theorized?!**_ _You little shit, what if you_ _ **weren't**_ _correct? I'd be dead, you ass!_ Lavellan bit the inside of her cheek.

"Meaning that it could also close the Breach itself." Cassandra concluded, entering the conversation as she wiped demon dust off of her sword and approached them.

 _Whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves._ Lavellan glanced at the human sharply. _Please tell me that she is not actually considering sending_ _ **me**_ _up against the Breach. Let some other brave idiot do that._

"Possibly." The mage across from her conceded.

 _You're not helping, asshole._

He glanced back to her. "It seems that you hold the key to our salvation."

Lavellan narrowed her eyes and gave the mage the dirtiest scowl she could muster. _Oh no. Oh HELL no. I'm_ _ **not**_ _some knight in shining armor. The big shots can deal with saving the world, not me!_

"Good to know! Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever." A different voice spoke from behind all of them, gritty and snarky.

Lavellan stopped glaring at the warrior and mage, turning to see a rather odd-looking dwarf approach them. The first thing that struck her was that he had no beard – however he more than made up for that with a glorious bed of chest hair (not that she was attracted, mind you… but it was rather hard to tear her eyes away from it). Her view was interrupted, however, as he gave her a brief bow in greeting.

"Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong." The dwarf sent a wink towards Cassandra at the last part, earning a sneer from the woman. Lavellan felt her brows rise at the unusual amount of warmth he showed her when everyone else was blaming her for the end of the world. She found herself unwillingly softening towards Varric, surprisingly more trusting of this _durgen'len_ than she was of her fellow elf or the human. It was probably a rogue thing – at least rogues admitted to keeping secrets and hiding in shadow. Cassandra was still ready to blame her for the attack on the Conclave, and the elf mage was too… _nice_. She didn't trust people that were overly nice. Their smiles annoyed her.

Still, Varric's presence was rather confusing. What was a dwarf doing here? The Conclave had been a human affair – elven mages notwithstanding. The dwarves were the last people who needed to be concerned with the mage-templar tensions. And she doubted that Varric was a representative from Orzammar – even just a cursory glance told her that he was too surfacer.

"Are you with the Chantry, or…?" She prompted in a dry voice.

The mage snorted. "Is that a serious question?"

 _Of course not, egghead._ Lavellan resisted the urge to roll her eyes and simply ignored the other elf.

Varric rubbed his hands together, a wry smirk on his face. "Technically I'm a prisoner, just like you."

Ah, how ironic. And rogues did so love irony. Lavellan returned the dwarf's smirk.

"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine." Cassandra butted in, glaring at Varric. Man that woman knew how to glare. "Clearly, that is no longer necessary."

 _That's one way of putting it._ Lavellan thought with an inward snicker.

"Yet here I am." Varric spread his arms and gestured to himself as if he were a gift from the gods. "Lucky for you, considering current events."

Lavellan's eyes flickered to the dwarf's weapon of choice. The crossbow was an unusual weapon for a dwarf – their society tended to prefer axes and mauls and daggers. They were an aggressive bunch after all. Dwarves liked to be in the thick of the fray. Varric, however, handled the crossbow like a professional.

And it was a beautiful crossbow. Her rogue eyes eagerly picked out the intricate gears and bolts, noting that its design was extremely advanced. Whoever created it was clearly a genius. It was a weapon far beyond its day.

"That's a nice crossbow you have there." Lavellan drawled, eyeing its design hungrily. Oh how she would love to figure out how that baby ticked.

Varric noted her greedy eyes and smirked back. "Ah-ah, Bianca is mine." He reached back and cradled the weapon's handle possessively. "Bianca and I have been through a lot together."

"You named your crossbow?" Lavellan asked, amused. It was not unusual for a fighter to name their weapons, although it was usually reserved for very special cases.

"Of course!" Varric smiled smugly. "And she'll be great company in the valley."

"Absolutely not!" Cassandra snapped at her dwarven rival. "Your help is appreciated, Varric, but – "

"Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?" Varric interrupted her. "Your soldiers aren't in control anymore! You need me."

 _Seeker?_ Lavellan darted a glance at the human. She vaguely remembered one of the guards requesting a Seeker during her imprisonment, but she had not remembered it until now. And to be honest, she simply had not thought about Cassandra's involvement too much at this point. Or any involvement. Half of her still thought that this was all an elaborate dream!

Cassandra harrumphed at the dwarf and strode away in agitation. During their spat, Lavellan's fellow elf approached her, giving her a slight bow.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live."

 _No thanks to you and your crazy experimentations._

"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept'." Varric said amusedly, joining them now that Cassandra was no longer glowering at him.

 _I take that back… for now._ Lavellan studied Solas a little more carefully now. He came off as scholarly, however that practiced smile of his was too rogue. He was dangerous as well, and smart enough to hide it.

"I am Banal'ras of the Lavellan Clan." She introduced herself in a bland tone, ignoring the curious look that the mage shot her. Cassandra and Varric merely nodded absently.

"That's kind of a long name, isn't it?" Varric mused.

"It is." She deadpanned, clearly unwilling to say any more on the matter. The dwarf pouted at that.

"Solas is an apostate." Cassandra's voice cut in as she stopped glaring at Varric long enough to address them. Lavellan had to give her credit for hiding her clear distaste for the free-range mage.

Solas sent the human a bemused look. "Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra."

 _Well… he's got a point._ The look on Cassandra's face told them that she was not so amused.

"My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade; far beyond the experience of any Circle mage." The elf turned back to address Lavellan. "I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin."

How ominous. She should start a drinking game. Maybe she'd tally up the number times someone preached doom and gloom upon the world, and when this shit show was over, she take a shot for each one. With how things were going, she might just die from alcohol poisoning. What a way to go!

"Well, isn't that just peachy? Suddenly I'm the 'key to salvation'. Looks like I won't be getting back to the clan any time soon." Lavellan grumped, crossing her arms and looking away. Black strands fell into her face at the movement, and with an annoyed huff, she blew them out of her face. "Not with this _thing_ attached to my hand like a parasite."

The elf glanced at the disapproving scowl of Cassandra. "Not to mention I'd never escape with her on my ass." She muttered, and Varric snorted beside her.

"You hold the key to saving the entire world, and you would just abandon that?!" Cassandra asked her incredulously.

"Oi, I said I would stay!" The smaller woman protested.

"For all the wrong reasons!" Cassandra retorted. "For _selfish_ reasons!"

"Yeah, well I never claimed to be a saint!" Lavellan snarked back. "The only reason why I'm still alive is because I'm a selfish bitch, and I look out for myself!"

Cassandra opened her mouth to continue, but Solas held up his hands, placating both of the women. "Please! Now is not the time!"

Cassandra seemed to regain control of herself and nodded, sending a last dirty look at the Dalish before she backed down. Lavellan grudgingly agreed with the apostate, turning away to smooth her face and wrestle down her thoughts.

"Cassandra, you should know," She heard Solas continue to speak to the Seeker behind her. "The magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is not a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power."

 _Would you stop calling me that? I literally just told you my name._ She felt her eyebrow twitch.

Cassandra quickly snapped back to business. "We must get to the forward camp quickly." She said, striding away from them and down the beaten path. Solas followed after her without another word, but Lavellan hung back to watch them, the dwarf quiet at her side.

 _Last chance to escape._

Ugh, if only it were that easy. She had always been selfish, shaped by events beyond her control. Once, she would have liked to think that she could be the hero that they needed. But realistically, she knew that wasn't true. Lavellan was no leader, no soldier, and there had been many times that her possession of a conscience had been questionable… but even she could not deny the end of the world.

The elleth groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, yanking at it when they became caught in the knots. "Fuck this." She muttered. "Fuck it all."

Beside her, the dwarf chuckled. "Well, Bianca's excited!" He smiled up at her half-heartedly.

"I'm not!" She whined.

Varric just laughed and patted her arm consolingly.

* * *

 **Banal'ras means 'shadow' in Elven**

 **Also, sometimes I use the word 'elleth' to denote a female elf. It's from Lord of the Rings.**


	4. But can I stab him?

**By the way, the first part of this chapter is from Varric's POV. Later chapters will often alternate between character POVs as well.**

* * *

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

 **Varric POV**

The path to the forward camp was, unsurprisingly, infested with demons. They popped up faster than weeds, shooting out from green-glowing portals on the ground, emerging from the ugly crystals that made metallic clanking noises. Varric was too preoccupied wiping his ass of demon shite to study Cassandra's latest victim, but he saw enough to acknowledge her as a fellow rogue.

And Lavellan was a damn good rogue. They didn't conjure fireballs or stand toe-to-toe with a monster twice their size. They fought from the shadows, aiming for weak points and spotting gaps in the enemy's defenses.

The female elf was small but she was quick, using her weightless frame to her advantage by slicing and dodging. By the time her foes turned to face her, she was already slipping behind them and attacking from a new direction. She wore her enemies down little by little, distracting them from the more lethal cuts until it was too late to realize the danger they posed.

And then Varric would send an arrow in for the kill shot.

The way of the warrior was all force and strength, turning war and battle into sport. But the way of the rogue was an art.

Cassandra was taking on two at a time, Solas and the elleth – Lavellan, right? Damn elves and their weird names – had teamed up against a demon that had attempted to sneak up on him, and Varric helped them all out whenever he saw an opening. It was quite repetitive, really. The demons always used the same moves, making them quite predictable after the first ten dozen encounters.

 _I almost miss Kirkwall street-fighting. At least those guys got creative._ Varric thought wryly as he launched one last volley of arrows into the shade behind Cassandra. The Seeker swung around at the sound of its screeching, only to watch it die from Bianca's arrows. Varric caught her eye and winked at her, earning a dirty look from the Seeker.

Once the battle appeared to be over, Varric and Solas swung their weapons over their shoulders and onto the harnesses on their backs, Varric caressing his crossbow for a moment before doing so. Cassandra was already approaching them, her weapon and shield put away, though her hand remained resting on the pommel of her sword. Lavellan was walking off to the side of Solas, swinging her dirks with appalling casualness. Varric never treated Bianca with such disrespect!

As if to reinforce her disdain of the blades, the female elf cast an exasperated glance at her dirk knives before slipping them into her belt, seeing as she had no sheath for them, since she had been stripped of everything during her stay in prison. Even her armor seemed to have been picked up from some dead soldier, as it was too loose and too bulky to fit her body type; if he had to guess, the scout uniform most likely had belonged to a man. Varric understood the struggle. He made a note to lecture Cassandra about the meaning of hospitality one day – preferably when they were separated by a small country.

"Think there are any more?" Varric asked no one in particular as he glanced around one last time.

"They would be attacking us if there were." Cassandra retorted, accompanied by her usual huff whenever addressing him. "However we will no doubt run into more of them the closer we get to the forward camp."

Lavellan shook her clothing, as defeated demons tended to explode into dust whenever they were banished, leaving the party covered in an unpleasant layer of residue. "Ugh, your Maker should put us on his payroll for the amount of demons we've been slaying."

Varric and Solas both snorted, and even Cassandra seemed amused before she remembered not to be, and scowled. _Geez, Seeker, would it kill ya to smile? I know the world is falling apart and shite, but the poor girl is trying._

They reached yet another bridge, this one blocked by a rift. Soldiers of an unknown heraldry were already fighting against the shades that emerged from the hole into the Fade. Although this close to the Breach, the only possible answer were that they were Chantry soldiers.

"Let's make this quick!"

With that, Lavellan flew past the rest of them, flying towards a demon that had cornered a soldier. The rogue slammed into its back and reached around to shove her dagger into its face.

 _Slow down, girl!_ Varric thought in annoyance as he scrambled to load Bianca with more bolts.

The dwarf exchanged an exasperated look with Solas as Cassandra charged in after her, the warrior rushing forward to engage the enemy with a fierce battle cry, while the mage seemed to explode with magic. Varric fell into the familiar rhythm of loading and firing his crossbow, the creak of Bianca's gears and the twang of her wires like a lullaby to his ears.

With most of the demons occupied, the other rogue approached the rift, warily holding up her marked hand. Varric covered her while she was preoccupied, as it appeared that the woman was unable to move when sealing a rift. So he kept the demons from lashing their claws at her, at least until Cassandra or Solas managed to cut them down.

And just like that, the rift sucked shut.

There was a collective sigh of relief from the nearby soldiers.

"The rift is gone. Open the gates!" Cassandra commanded.

The men scrambled back towards their posts, a few heading towards the levers that opened the doors. The gate swung open with a loud groan. Varric put away his weapon and started towards the entrance to the bridge, passing the glowy elf on the way. Lavellan was staring at her hand, still sparking with magic that it had somehow absorbed from closing the rift.

"Whatever the thing on your hand is, it's useful." He told her.

The elleth looked up and through the gates, allowing her hand to drop to her side.

"Being a tool is useful. That does not mean that I enjoy being one." She muttered without glancing at him, following Cassandra through the gates and onto the bridge.

 _Everyone's just doom and gloom today, aren't we?_ Varric shook his head as he followed his fellow rogue.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

 **Lavellan POV**

Approaching the other end of the bridge, Lavellan heard raised voices and shouting coming from two seemingly prominent figures. Upon closer inspection, she recognized the woman as the rogue from her interrogation – Leliana, was it? The other participant in the argument was a cleric, as could be deduced from his clothing. And they seemed to be talking about her…

"…do no such thing!" The man scoffed.

Leliana glowered at his back. "The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes! It is our only chance!"

 _Prisoner?_ _Are we still on about this?_

The redhead and cleric finally noticed the approach of Lavellan and the others. She automatically felt enmity for the cleric, if his dirty looks were any indication, he was going to be a pain in the ass.

"Ah, here they come." He sneered.

 _Yup, I'm sensing assholery afoot._

Leliana gave them a less hostile welcome as she strode forward, her eyes glancing up and down each of the newcomers for any injuries. "You made it." She said with relief. "Chancellor Roderick, this is –"

"I know who she is." He cut her off with a sneer. Lavellan entertained herself with a mental image of her fist introducing itself to his face. The chancellor then pointed rather rudely towards Lavellan saying, "As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!"

 _You are making me very annoyed, little man. If this idiot doesn't have a pole shoved up his ass already, I'm going to do it for him._ She seethed.

"So much for a trial." Lavellan muttered to Cassandra. The Seeker surprised her by giving her a reassuring look, before turning back to Roder- _dick_ and curling her lip.

"'Order me'?" Cassandra scoffed at him. "You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!"

 _Oh shit, smackdown time!_

"And you are a thug!" _Oh no he didn't._ "A thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!" _Oh but he did!_

Lavellan resisted the urge to smirk. Well, at least all the drama about her execution and whatnot was being circumvented towards the man attempting to order it. He must be truly suicidal to speak to either of the dangerous women in such a manner. Even if she did end up at the hangman's noose, at least she was entertained.

 _There's something wrong with me._ Ah well, it wasn't something that had not occurred to her before.

"We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know." Leliana stated, and only an idiot would not have heard the underlying threat. They outranked him, as much as he would pretend otherwise.

"Justinia is dead!" Roderick threw up his hands.

 _And you sound just soooo broken up about it._ Lavellan sighed and leaned her weight onto one leg, idly looking around as the Chantry people bickered.

"We must elect a replacement and obey _her_ orders on the matter."

Lavellan raised a brow at him. "Oh for the love of all things holy, would you shut your trap already? Your voice ought to be a death sentence in itself."

Varric snickered shamelessly behind her.

"You brought this on us in the first place!" The man snarled back defensively.

"And what is your proof?" Lavellan hummed aloud as she stood up straight, and despite her lack of height, managed to appear to look down on him. "Circumstantial evidence is not enough for conviction in a proper court. Just because I happened to survive the blast does not mean that I was the perpetrator."

 _Surprised to meet an educated elf, no?_

"Besides," And here she crossed her arms. "If I _had_ been behind the attack, why would I have stayed in the Conclave? Why would I not escape beforehand? And if I _was_ the perpetrator, I would not be stupid enough to wait around for you to pull your head out of your ass and figure out my punishment. And as you can see, I am here, and I am _helping_ you put the world back together. And because it seems like you forgot, let me remind you: there's a big fucking hole in the sky! No one has time to pander to you petty ego."

 _Just poking holes in all of your theories. It's what I do best._ Lavellan mentally high-fived herself, feeling very pleased. The chancellor sputtered for a moment, either astonished at her abrasive tone or at the fact that this 'Dalish heathen' actually possessed an educated vernacular with words longer than ' _shemlen'_.

Finally he seemed to think that ignoring her would just make her go away, and so he turned to Cassandra. "Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless."

"Ye of little faith." Lavellan murmured with a wry tilt to her lips (ha, see what she did there? Puns for the win!). She heard Varric smother another snigger behind her.

Cassandra approached the table with a resolute expression. "We can stop this before it's too late."

 _And you, clearly, have too much faith._ Lavellan frowned. Oh dear, surely Cassandra would not insist that they storm the Breach?

"We must get to the temple. It is the quickest route."

 _She does intend to storm the Breach, doesn't she? Am I allowed to sit this one out?_ Lavellan sighed heavily, earning an amused look from the mage and a sympathetic pat on the arm from the dwarf.

"There's no refusing Cassie when she wants something done." Varric said to her.

She raised her brows. "Cassie?"

He shrugged. "I'm testing out nicknames."

She chuckled in response _._

Leliana and Cassandra debated over which route to take to get to the center of the attack on the Conclave, and Roderick continued to whine that it was fruitless. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the man. He pretended to be all important and mighty, but the moment he was asked to risk something he turned into a sniveling coward. And here she thought the Andrastians preached courage in the face of death.

Suddenly the sky groaned as the Breach shuddered, sending out another pulse. Lavellan attempted to keep her reaction to a minimum, but her mark began to burn as the pulse swept over them. She winced and grabbed her arm with her opposite hand to steady the tremors in her muscles, the light flickering wildly and sparking for a moment.

The three Chantry members froze and regarded her carefully. Cassandra turned away from her peers to face Lavellan.

"How do _you_ think we should proceed?" She asked the elleth.

Lavellan blinked. _Wha…?_

"You asking _me_?" She asked for clarification. They had all called for her death more than once in the past couple hours, and now they turned to her for guidance? Ugh.

 _Why the hell not._ She inwardly muttered with a mental shrug, glancing from the valley to the mountain. Well, being a rogue meant that she was not the type to run headfirst into a dangerous situation. So she was not eager to go charging into a demon-infested pass with limited space. Scaling the mountain was her preferred option: less likely to run into enemies and it would give them an ample view to observe the temple from above.

She reiterated her reasoning to Cassandra.

Cassandra and Leliana nodded, the Seeker sending the other off to gather the rest of their forces and prepare them for the temple. Walking towards the mountain, Chancellor dickface decided that he needed to have the last word.

"On your head be the consequences, Seeker." He sneered as Cassandra led them from the bridge.

 _I'm killing him before I go to the noose._ Lavellan decided as they walked past him, curling her lip at the sniveling little man. The elf walked a little faster to catch up to her companions, coming up to walk alongside Cassandra.

"Can I punch him in the face?" She asked the Seeker casually.

Cassandra's steps faltered, but she kept walking. "Perhaps later." She replied with dark humor.

Lavellan hummed. "I'll be sure to bring my brass knuckles. It will encourage better behavior."

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

Fighting demons was good cardio. It kept her blood pumping and adrenaline rushing, warming her body despite the chill. But climbing a mountain? In the snow? Lavellan was suddenly reminded of just how much she despised cold weather.

The rungs of the ladders were covered in thin layers of ice, numbing her fingers unpleasantly and making the climb incredibly slippery. The wind howled in her ears, the pointed tips now burning from frostbite. What she wouldn't give for a hood right now! Ladder after ladder they climbed, while Solas and Varric questioned Cassandra about the missing squadron. Lavellan could not understand where they even got the energy to speak. Her lips were chapped and her teeth were chattering, neither of which were exactly conducive to conversation.

 _Don't look down._ She told herself, attempting to ignore the heavy winds that were attempting to push her off the ledges. _Don't look down. Do NOT look down!_

She kept her gaze resolutely fixed forward and at eye-level. Lavellan did not usually have a problem with heights – she loved the feeling of flying that she got from leaping through tree branches or running across rooftops – but the combination of slippery snow, shivering limbs, and icy wind was not agreeing with her stomach at the moment.

 _Just don't look down_. She chanted to herself. When they finally reached the top of the series of ladders, she saw the opening into the mine and darted for it.

 _Land!_ She hurled herself onto the safety of solid rock beneath her feet, rather than the unsteady creaking of who-knows-how-old wooden boards. _Oh my love, how I missed thee!_

Something growled. Freezing, she glanced up and noticed a shade hovering in the middle of the tunnel.

 _Oh, it's just a demon. Whew, I thought it would be a bear or something!_ Was it bad that she was more relieved to see the demon?

"We've got company!" Lavellan called over her shoulder as she leapt to her feet and withdrew her knives. Through the caverns they went, a regular demon pest control, flushing them out and cutting them down, but never more than three or four at a time. It would seem that the mountain was remote enough that only a few of the demons lingered there. As they approached the exit of the mine, Lavellan felt her stomach clench at the sight of several human bodies crumpled on the ground, already partially covered by the fast-falling snow.

"Looks like we found that lost patrol." Varric muttered grimly.

Cassandra's eyes swept over the bodies carefully, and then narrowed. "That cannot be all of them…"

Lavellan seconded her statement. There were only three of them. Most squadrons of any military operation consisted of a group of five or six. Others had escaped or had died elsewhere.

"So the others could be holed up ahead?" Varric asked the Seeker hopefully.

"Or they were eaten." Lavellan quipped with a shrug. She paused. "Do demons actually eat human flesh, or do they just suck the soul out of you?"

All three of her companions glared at her, although the dwarf showed a bit more amusement mixed into his horror.

 _Um... Was that the wrong thing to say?_ She had a bad habit of being callous in situations that required a bit more tact. Keeper Deshanna had always whacked her in the head with the staff whenever she said shit like that.

Lavellan glanced at the snow around them, picking out the barely-hidden path down the mountain. She squinted, searching for footprints. While there was not anything definite, she could see that the path was lumpier than the untouched snow. If there had been footprints before, they were rather mottled now. She followed the trail, however faint that it was. Rounding the bend, she heard that familiar clinking and grinding sounds that seemed to accompany the weird crystals that formed inside a rift. Then she heard the cries of people and the screech of demons. Looks like they found the missing soldiers.

Lavellan and Cassandra pulled out their blades at the same time, charging forward to aid the men. Solas cast an ice spell at one of the shades nearest the Seeker, and after it had frozen, she bashed into it and shattered it completely. Varric's arrows distracted the demons while Lavellan slid behind them and stabbed. After the monsters closest to the rift had been dealt with, the elf allowed Cassandra to aid the soldiers while she faced the rift.

 _I literally have no idea what I'm doing._ She thought as she lifted her marked palm skyward. Her arm jerked as magic shot from the rift and connect with her hand. The feeling of a static shock accompanied her bond as she imagine the rift sealing shut.

 _Shhhhhooooomp!_

The rift sucked closed, and Lavellan dropped her hand with a sigh.

"Sealed, as before." Solas' voice hailed his approach to her side. "You are becoming quite proficient at this."

"I'm a quick learner." She drawled sarcastically, and his expression darkened with a vaguely disapproving look.

"Let's just hope it works on the big one." Varric said as he put away Bianca and walked up to join the elves.

Her gaze slid to look at the dwarf from the corner of her eye, her lips twitching down. "I'd really rather not."

Meanwhile, Cassandra walked over to the three remaining soldiers and help one of them up. It was a female, human of course, and her uniform indicated that she must have been the leader of the squadron.

"Thank the Maker you arrived." The soldier said to Cassandra, gripping a wounded arm to her side.

Cassandra patted the woman's unwounded shoulder and turned to dip her head in the direction of Lavellan. "Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant. She insisted that we come this way."

 _Can we stop calling me 'The Prisoner' already?_ Lavellan thought in exasperation.

The lieutenant turned a wondering gaze towards the elleth, making Lavellan shift uncomfortably. "The prisoner?"

"Yes, yes, the prisoner." Lavellan grumbled. "Yes, well, less chitchat, more saving the world, no?"

The lieutenant, much to Lavellan's embarrassment, crossed her arm over her chest and bowed formally. "You have my sincere thanks."

 _Um, why are we bowing? Stop that!_ Lavellan grimaced and waved at the woman awkwardly. She noticed Varric smirking at her from the corner of her eye and resisted the urge to glare at him. Cassandra shooed the remainders of the squadron back to the camp, instructing them on how to navigate the mountain. The path down the mountain was cleared of demons, for the moment. They continued onwards at the brisk pace, eager to take advantage of the lack of enemies.

Lavellan could tell that they were nearing the Breach as they approached the remains of the Conclave, as if she had some sixth-sense connecting her to the giant green hole. The area around it reminded her of a comet's landing, with the sloping ground steep and smooth with melted rock. They carefully maneuvered their way down to the ruined buildings, a few flames still licking the walls and collapsed rooftops.

The elleth stared in shock around her. There were bodies frozen around them, with discernible expressions of fear and horror. Their skin was darkened, melted and hardened, and they could almost be mistaken for warped looking bronze statues. There were strange crystalline formations jutting up out of the ground at odd intervals, some white, some green, others red.

 _I… I survived this?_ Lavellan stopped next to one of the crouching figures, staring into the empty eye sockets. A shiver ran down her spine, and she was suddenly grateful that she had not eaten in the last several hours.

"The Breach is a long way up..." Varric trailed off as they drew closer to the center point of the blast.

They came upon a balcony overlooking a rift, and above them, the sky was torn and gravity warped as the Breach hovered menacingly. The points of her ears twitched at the sound of crunching gravel behind them, and she turned to see Leliana and her men approach them.

"You're here!" She greeted them. "Thank the Maker."

Cassandra turned to face the redhead. "Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple."

Leliana nodded and turned to face her men, pointing this way and that as she ordered them to their posts. Meanwhile, the Seeker turned to face the elleth.

"This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"

Lavellan raised an eyebrow and glanced back up at the Breach. "Sure, let me just sprout some wings and it'll be done in a jiffy."

Cassandra scowled at her, and the woman's hand twitched. She had a feeling that the Seeker was resisting the urge to cuff her.

Solas gestured to a rip in the veil that was hovering closer to the ground. "This rift was the first, and it is the key."

 _But are you sure of that?_ Lavellan stared dubiously at the rift, and then up at the Breach. They were connected, yes, but not by much. This rift was larger than the others they had previously faced, but it was still miniscule when compared to the Breach. It was like plugging a crack in a dam and hoping that it would somehow fix the giant hole that had caused it.

 _Well, it's not like anyone is pitching any better ideas._

"Let's find a way down." Cassandra spoke. "And be careful."

The group nodded and began following what had once been a hallway. Most of the buildings – what was left of them – were covered in melted rock and debris, interspersed with crystal formations. Very rarely was the actual building visible, usually only a tile or two beneath the rubble. It was hard to imagine these ruins as the glorious temple that she had been spying in just the previous day.

" **Now is the hour of our victory."**

Everyone stumbled and gasped as a deep voice boomed through the air. Lavellan stopped and glanced around sharply, looking for its source.

" **Bring forth the sacrifice."**

The voice was ominous – more than ominous. It was the most evil voice she had ever heard in her lifetime, threatening and dark, straight out of a child's nightmare. It made her instincts scream at her to run.

The air faded into silence once more as they rounded another bend. Lavellan paused when she saw giant red crystals lining the walls, pulsating with a dark energy. The glow they emitted looked like fire had been trapped beneath their glassy surfaces. Varric and Cassandra began hissing about 'red lyrium' – she guessed that meant the strange red rocks that glowed like lava in crystal form. Lavellan mentally filed it under the category of 'Very Bad, Do Not Touch'.

It all had to be related to the Breach. Obviously, none of that had existed in the temple before the explosion. Then again, there were a lot of things that had not been in the temple before and now were: rifts, corpses, strange evil crystals, evil voices thundering overhead… Every time she thought things couldn't get any weirder, reality seemed to scream ' _Challenge Accepted!_ '. The Pantheon*, the Maker, Lady Luck – whatever god was out there – needed to calm the fuck down, cause shit was getting ridiculous.

"Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple; corrupted it." Solas theorized.

"It's evil." Varric said unnecessarily. "Whatever you do, don't touch it."

 _Very Bad, Do Not Touch._ Lavellan reiterated to herself, nodding along with the dwarf. They continued down a crumbling set of stair, getting closer to the bottom level where the rift was.

" **Keep the sacrifice still."**

 _That doesn't sound good._ She thought as she hesitantly continued to make her way down into the center of the ruins. _Please tell me the sacrifice is a goat or something._

And then there was another voice: _**"Someone; help me!"**_

 _It just had to be human sacrifice, didn't it? Why is it always human sacrifice?_

It was Orlesian in accent. Lavellan could have sworn that she had heard it before. But the voice seemed to be echoing from somewhere far away, and though she strained her ears, her identification of the voice slipped away.

" _What's going on here?!"_

By the gods, that was her voice! Aw man, that meant she was far more involved than she had thought. Which meant more responsibility. And more yelling Cassandra.

"That was your voice…" _Cue Cassandra._

The Seeker gasped, staring up at the sky as if to see the ghostly owners of the voices. "Most Holy called out to you, but –"

As if on cue, the rift pulsated, and smoke rose up from it, congealing into shapes. The shapes took the form of a memory: A dark figure with glowing red eyes standing before the helpless form of Divine Justinia as she was held aloft by magic.

" _What's going on here?!"_ Her own voice demanded, and a third character ran into the room, drawing her blades and glaring at the shadowy figure.

Lavellan stared at this memory of herself, where her hair was pulled neatly into a braid that fell down her back, bangs swept out of her eyes, glaring up at her foe as she gripped a familiar set of daggers. _Why don't I remember any of this?!_

" _ **Run while you can! Warn them!"**_ The memory of Justinia cried out to her.

The evil shadow turned sharply to glare at her image, and Lavellan watched herself as she gulped and tightened her grip on her knives.

" **We have an intruder!"** The evil… thing… growled lowly. **"Slay the elf!"**

And then the memory seemed to implode as the rift gave another pulse, shattering the trance that it had cast on everyone around them.

Cassandra rounded on Lavellan with a stormy expression, obviously thinking that she had lied to her earlier. "So you _were_ there –"

"I don't know anything, I don't know anything, I don't know anything!" She interrupted the Seeker. Lavellan jerked away before Cassandra had a chance to grab her by the collar and made a motion of knocking on her head. "Amnesia, remember? No memories! Nada!"

Cassandra's expression turned dark and she opened her mouth to lash out again when Solas spoke, interrupting them. "Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place." The apostate explained, and then turned to face all of them. "This rift is only closed temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

 _Great, now we're going to open it._ Lavellan scowled as she approached the floating crystal-thing, Cassandra and Leliana readying their soldiers. _Anyone else think that this is a bad idea? No? Just me?_

The mark on her hand pulsated, and she held it up to the rift. A jolt of energy shot through her as the rift connected to the mark.

 _Um… open sesame?_

The rift gave a small explosion as it yawned open. For a brief second, Lavellan glimpsed into the Fade, floating rocks and spirits wandering the skies. And then something leapt out at them, exiting the rift and landing in the physical realm.

"Rrrrrraaaaaaooorrrr!" The demon bared its rows of teeth as it stretched and took form.

 _Aw, fuck me._ Lavellan stared at it as the soldiers rushed forwards. _Pride._

Three times as tall as a man and just as wide, the creature laughed derisively at the humans that charged it. Sweeping its mighty arm, it knocked a couple of them away easily. Lavellan snapped to attention as the rift pulsed again, and shades began to appear.

She drew her daggers and joined the fight, carefully avoiding the demons' notice as she snuck up behind them while they were engaged with a warrior. Each time the immediate area around the rift cleared, she rushed back and attempted to close it. This rift was taking a lot more tries than the others, unfortunately, drawing the battle out longer than she would have liked. Lavellan was forced to take more hits than she was used to, often distracted by the rift as she attempted to seal it when a demon would sneak up and swipe its claws at her.

Finally, Cassandra and the soldiers seemed to stun the great Pride monster, giving Lavellan her opening to seal the rift. She leapt forward, arm extended, the mark connecting with the rift before she had even landed on her feet.

"Do it!" She heard Cassandra cry in encouragement. But this rift seemed to be resisting her mark, stubbornly pulsating with magic that she struggled to keep under her control. It felt like trying to hold water in her hands and not letting anything drip between her fingers.

 _Close, dammit!_ She thought, somehow _willing_ the rift to seal shut.

And it did.

It sucked shut, imploding, and then sending a blast of magic skyward and into the Breach. Relief swept through her and Lavellan heaved a great sigh. When the ball of magic collided with the center of the Breach, it exploded with a deafening _crack!_ and lit the sky with light until it blinded everyone.

The Breach pulsed, harder than it ever had before, and the last thing she remembered was her mark sparking and burning wildly.

Darkness engulfed her.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

* * *

 ***The Pantheon – refers to the elven gods**


	5. Welcome to the Inquisition

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

 _Green light…_

 _Fire…_

 _Screaming…_

 _Demons…_

 _THE BREACH!_

With a gasp, she tore herself from the darkness, eyes snapping open and glancing wildly at her surroundings.

Lavellan froze when she noted where she was. The walls were wooden, with cold air leaking through. Animal skins were pinned to the walls like trophies, a brazier was lit on the wall opposite her, and a couple bookshelves placed around the room that were filled with more knick-knacks than actual books. She was seated on a surprisingly soft bed, with a worn pillow situated behind her. The sheets were a little rough, yet colored a deep royal blue with golden imagery sewn into it. They had probably been borrowed from a local minor noble, and smelled faintly of soap.

Shifting, Lavellan felt her injuries twinge and realized that someone had stitched and dressed her wounds. And from the look of her yellowing bruises, they were more than a day old… oh dear. How long had she been out? Her gaze turned downward, noting with a frown that someone had changed her clothes.

 _Whoa… is this silk?_

Oh Creators it was. Where the hell had this silk come from? Lavellan studied her clothing more closely now and felt her frown deepen. The stitching was near perfect, well-tailored with a precise hand. There were even sequined buttons, which shone brightly in the torchlight.

 _What the fuck? Why would someone put me in this?_

She had been dressed like a freaking noble. Her mind was practically aching with the meaning of this, and so far nothing was making sense.

 _I thought I was still 'The Prisoner'?_

The points of her ears twitched when she heard the latch on the door lift, and shallow footprints enter the room. She shot into an upright position, immediately glancing around for something to use as a weapon.

To her surprise, a young elven girl walked in carrying a wooden box. In the moment that she glanced out the window, Lavellan studied her, noting her slouching posture (a servant then), curly brown hair, and well-worn clothing (ugh, that orange tunic was garish). The girl finally looked where is was going and noticed that she was awake and watching her.

"Ah!"

She dropped the package and jumped back, immediately hunching her shoulders and staring at her with wide eyes. "I didn't know you were awake, I swear!"

 _Yeah, so?_ She felt her eyebrows lift ever-so-slightly at the girl's strange behavior. _Forget that. The Breach. What happened?_

"What happened after the battle?" She immediately asked. "The Breach?"

And then!

And _then_!

The kid dropped to his knees and fucking _prostrated_ before her. Like, flinging her arms into the air and then stretching them out onto the ground in front of him whilst she bowed and touched her forehead to the floor.

"I beg your forgiveness, and your humble blessing." The girl spoke in a high, nervous voice. "I am but a humble servant."

 _I must have hit my head when I fell._ She furrowed her brows, shocked into momentary silence. _This is the craziest dream I've ever had. Seriously, what the fuck? What. The. Fuck._

"Uh…" She said gracefully, "Um, what the hell are you doing?"

"You're back in Haven, My Lady." The servant spoke timidly, answering her first question. "They say you saved us! The Breach stopped growing, just like the Mark on your hand."

 _Speaking of the mark…_ Her eyes whipped down to her left hand, stretching and then curling the fingers as the mark tingled. Yet it no longer ached.

"It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days." The girl continued and _Andraste's tits she was still bowing!_

"Stop that!" Lavellan flapped her hands at him like an awkward duck, her cheeks tinting slightly. "Why are you doing that? Stand up!"

The servant scrambled to her feet and clasped her hands together nervously, wringing her fingers. She gave her a look of fear mixed with… adoration?... and slowly began to back away from her.

"Lady Cassandra wanted to know when you'd wakened. She said 'At once!'." The girl stuttered, her voice cracking with puberty.

 _Cassandra! Oh thank the Creators, finally someone who had some answers!_

"Where is she?" Lavellan demanded of the servant.

"I-In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor." The servant's eyes widened as she spun around and ran out the door, calling over her shoulder, " 'At once!' She said!"

The door swung shut behind her, and Lavellan was left standing uncertainly while her head pounded in confusion.

 _What a strange child… Perhaps she was dropped on her head as a child?_

And why was a 'prisoner' being treated with servants? She had never wanted servants, and had not enjoyed the earlier experience. It was so awkward, with all the 'my lady' and 'my lord' and… And did that kid just worship her? Like, seriously? If this was a joke, she didn't get it.

Lavellan growled and ran her hands through her hair, wincing when they snagged in a bunch of knots. She pulled her hair forward over her shoulder and glared at it. At the moment, it was a mass of raven colored knots. Lavellan grimaced and glanced around the room, mentally cheering when she spotted a simple comb on the nightstand. She attempted to smooth away the oily sheen at her roots, but knew that nothing could solve that until she had a proper bath. During her teenage years she had kept her hair in a short bob, which had been much easier to deal with since she had fought more often back then. In the last couple years she had settled down and had allowed her hair to grow out.

Her thoughts turned to Cassandra and Leliana. Those two women were practical and had short hair. She should do that. Long hair was such a hassle.

 _That is, if I'm not sentenced to execution before then._ She always looked on the bright side.

A pair of boots were situated at the end of the bed, apparently for her use. Lavellan smiled approvingly when she picked them up (stylish _and_ practical) and tugged them over her socks. Then she investigated the room, finding a few medical herbs in the box that the elven boy had dropped, and a note on the desk that seemed to be a medical recording of her days following the Breach. Finally, after gathering as much information as she could from just searching the room, she was ready to head to the Chantry. Or, as ready as anyone ever is when faced with possible execution. She walked over to the door and placed her hand on the knob.

 _Okay world. Here I come._

She took a breath and opened the door, walking out into the town of Haven.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

 **Cassandra POV**

"Have you gone completely mad?!"

The arrogant asshole asked her that question at least once a day before the disaster at the Conclave, and now he asked her that pretty much every minute. Cassandra scowled and seriously considered the elf's previous proposal to punch Chancellor Roderick in the face at the moment. As he ranted and raved like a righteous lunatic at her and Leliana, she couldn't help but think of the irony. She had known Roderick for years (unfortunately) and yet the prisoner-turned-ally was already far more appreciated than this old fool.

"She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!" Chancellor Roderick continued, the same sentence that he had been spouting for days now.

Did they not already go over this? Cassandra stifled her frustration and settled for glaring at the man as she spoke with a tight voice. "I do not believe she is guilty."

"The elf _failed_ , Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky!" The chancellor waved his arms as if it would emphasize his point. "For all you know she could have intended it this way!"

Now he was just being ridiculous.

"I do not believe that." She growled, Leliana standing behind the chancellor and making soothing motions with her hands to discourage Cassandra from losing her temper.

Chancellor Roderick pointed rudely at her. "That is not for you to decide."

 _Neither is it yours._ Cassandra thought darkly. Roderick seemed to be under the delusion that he was higher up in the Chantry hierarchy than he truly was. She and Leliana were the Right and Left Hands of the Divine. Only the Grand Clerics had any authority to speak to them in such a way.

"Your duty is to serve the Chantry!"

 _I am going to strangle the little man._

"My _duty_ is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours." She bit back. Her biggest peeve had always been Chantry members that only seemed to have joined purely for bragging rights… such as Roderick.

The door suddenly swung open, and in strode the object of their discussion, ironically.

"Chain her!" The chancellor ordered pompously. "I want her prepared to travel to the capital for trial."

 _Oh for the love of…_ Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Disregard that. And leave us."

Much to everyone's satisfaction, the guards easily ignored Roderick and obeyed the Seeker. Roderick fumed, and if she looked closely enough, the Seeker might have even seen steam coming from his ears. From the corner of her eye, she saw the elf – Lavellan, she reminded herself – smirk at Roderick's attempt to establish his 'superiority'. She might have even giggled, though thankfully the insufferable man did not hear it.

Lavellan walked over to stand by the table, leaning her wait onto one leg and glancing around the room lazily. She waved half-heartedly. "'Sup?"

Cassandra was quite sure Roderick was going to have an aneurysm.

"Are we still on for a trial, or does temporarily saving the world win me any brownie points?" The elf continued, and then _yawned_ as if neither option was of any consequence.

Oh Leliana was going to love her. Cassandra was already dreading it.

" _You_ are still a suspect!" Roderick thundered, pointing a finger at her. Then to her horror (and Leliana's amusement) the elf leaned forward and snapped her teeth together in a loud _clack,_ pretending to bite down on the Chancellor's finger.

Cassandra quickly diverted their attention. "No, she is not." She stated adamantly, wishing the elf would stop baiting the man.

" _Someone_ was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone that the Divine did not expect." Leliana finally deigned to speak, quickly wiping her amused expression from her face. "Perhaps they died with the others – or perhaps they have allies who yet live."

The redhead looked pointedly at the chancellor.

" _I_ am a suspect?!" Roderick gasped, scandalized.

Across the table, the elleth shrugged. "Well you certainly seem like the type who loves grasping for power." Lavellan then snorted. "Strutting around like a fool. It's quite funny, really."

Cassandra was not sure whether she should appreciate the girl knocking Chancellor Roderick down a few notches, or be exasperated at Lavellan's goading. She had a point, but right now they had far more important problems than dealing with an annoyance such as the chancellor.

Leliana addressed the chancellor before he could reply to Lavellan. "You are indeed a suspect, as well as many others."

"But _not_ the prisoner?" Chancellor Roderick scoffed indignantly.

Lavellan winked at him and gave the chancellor a Cheshire grin, that damn elf. _You are not helping, Lavellan!_

"I heard the voices in the temple." Cassandra told him. "The Divine called to her for help."

Roderick sneered. "So her survival, that thing on her hand – all a _coincidence_?" He crossed his arms disbelievingly.

"Providence." Cassandra clarified. "The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour."

Lavellan choked.

"Uh, whut!" She waved her hands in front of her. "No, ooooh no. I am _not_ some 'Chosen One'. You realize I'm an elf?" Reaching up, she tugged on the points of her ears. "A _Dalish_ elf. A nonbeliever?"

Cassandra frowned. She was a devout Andrastian, and despite the beliefs of some in the Chantry, she believed that all living being were children of the Maker – including elves and dwarves, hell, even qunari. Just because they did not worship the Maker did not mean that he did not have a hand in their creation. And if the Maker chose a disbelieving elf as his messenger, well, it's not like anyone was qualified to criticize him for it.

 _Perhaps she will gain faith in the process?_ Doubtful, considering how stubborn the Dalish were known to be.

"I have not forgotten your origins." Cassandra replied to Lavellan. "But no matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it."

She turned away and walked over to the bookshelf, retrieving a large tome that had sat innocently between the other books. Hidden in plain sight – the Divine's contingency plan. Cassandra had remembered her and Leliana dismissing it as Justinia's paranoia, all those months ago. Her back up plan had seemed like an overreaction, a truly desperate bid for peace. They had been so confident that the Most Holy would succeed at the Conclave.

Leliana continued to speak as Cassandra picked up the book. "The Breach remains. And your mark is still our only way of closing it."

Cassandra briefly wondered what they would have done without Lavellan's mark. What if she had died in the Conclave as well? What if they had killed her before questioning her? Without her, there would be no hope of sealing the Breach, or the ensuing rifts. Again, providence.

"This is not for you to decide!" Chancellor Roderick protested.

The tome weighed heavily in her hands as she walked over to the table and slammed it down, the table creaking in protest.

"You know what this is, Chancellor?" She asked him rhetorically, continuing before he could speak. "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act."

Beside her, she felt Leliana shift, as her longtime friend recognized the book and realized the gravity of their situation.

"As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." Cassandra stated with a lot more bravado than she actually felt. But then she thought of all those who had died at the Conclave – mages, Templars, clerics, elves, humans, dwarves, even a few qunari had been there – and those whom she had lost personally – friends, comrades, Justinia, so loving and kind, and… and Regalyan.

She felt her chest tighten painfully as she squeezed her eyes shut. When they snapped open, they burned with fire, and she straightened and pulled her shoulders back. _If we do not fight for them, no one will._

Cassandra snarled at the chancellor, finally losing control of her temper. "We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval!"

It seemed she had finally accomplished the impossible: Roderick snapped his mouth shut. The offended chancellor huffed and strode angrily out the door, slamming it behind him.

He would not be missed.

Leliana looked over to Lavellan. "We will rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos."

Lavellan visibly hesitated, glancing at the tome.

"We aren't ready." Leliana murmured. "We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support."

"But we have no choice. We must act now." _Because no one else will._ She thought grimly. She glanced over to the elleth. "With you at our side."

Lavellan stared at them as if they were speaking Qun. "Um, what is this 'Inquisition of Old', exactly?"

The poor elf looked completely lost. Cassandra was not surprised, not many people learned about the Inquisition anymore. It was a time in history between the ancient salvation of the Grey Wardens against the first Blight, and the rise of the Orlesian Empire. The most history that the majority of people knew was the Age of Arlathan, Tevinter entering the Golden City and starting the Blights, Grey Wardens stopping the Blights, and fast forward to the golden age of Orlais.

Leliana explained quickly explained the brief history of the Inquisition, a movement that was not religion, not military, but something that united all races for the common goal of survival. Not many knew about its noble crusade, of actual friendships between humans, elves, and dwarves. So much had been forgotten before the Chantry began keeping records, hindering all semblance of peace that the original Inquisition might have accomplished.

"After it was finished, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar order. But the Templars have lost their way." Cassandra continued when Leliana had finished her spiel. "We need those who can do what must be done, _united_ under a single banner. Regardless of their differences."

"So…" Lavellan shook her head in bewilderment. "Is this Chantry thing, or…?"

Cassandra snorted. "Not if they can help it…" She muttered. _Cranky old windbags._

"The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine." Leliana clarified, smiling softly at Cassandra's muttering. "And then it will follow her direction. But in the meantime, it is powerless to do anything."

"But _we_ cannot wait!" Cassandra shook her head. By the time the Chantry selected a new Divine, the Breach might already consume half of Thedas! "So many Grand Clerics died at the Conclave." She murmured, before steeling her voice. "No. We are on our own. Perhaps forever."

Lavellan furrowed her brows. "And how does this involve me?" She asked, clearly unwilling to take on such a burden. "I'm just an elf."

"This is a war for survival. And we are already at war, with whomever is behind the attack." She told the elleth. Remembering Lavellan's reluctance to help during their attempt on the Breach, Cassandra continued. "You are already involved. Its mark is upon you."

The elf frowned and glanced at her glowing hand. The two human women held their breath as Lavellan continued to stare down at her hand, her expression indecipherable. Her eyes were fixed on the mark, the reflection of its green glow flickering in her eyes. Her gaze was hard, mouth in a flat line.

"…And if I refuse?" She asked softly.

Leliana sighed. "You may go, if you wish."

To her frustration, Lavellan's expression continued to be unreadable.

"You should know that while some believe you are Chosen, many still think you are guilty." She attempted to persuade the elleth gently. "The Inquisition can protect you."

"We can also _help_ you." Leliana input, gesturing towards the mark.

"It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend that this has not changed you." Cassandra told Lavellan.

Another pause.

Then the elleth sighed, and seemed to sag.

"Well, I can't exactly go back to my clan with _this_ on my hand. Accompanying you lot is my only chance to get rid of it." She muttered, clenching a glowing fist. "Not to mention that I realize that there are still people after me. If I go back, that only endangers the clan… And I would never do that. I _won't_."

Cassandra found herself grudgingly impressed. The elf might have appeared selfish at first, but at least she was loyal to her family.

Lavellan ran her fingers through her hair and sighed again. "Not to mention that this chaos would eventually spread to the Dalish tribes anyway… It would catch up with me."

The elleth glanced between Leliana and her and licked her lips.

"I won't fight for the Chantry, but I'll fight to stop the end of the world." She told them with a dry laugh. "To 'restore order' as you put it."

"That is the plan." Leliana smiled softly.

Cassandra held out her hand to Lavellan. "Help us fix this, before it's too late."

Lavellan glanced down at it, pausing, before she raised her other hand and grasped Cassandra's.

"Alright," She chuckled with a slight tilt to her lips. "But don't expect any heroics."

Leliana giggled behind them. "Just leave that to Cassandra." She teased the Seeker.

Cassandra gave her partner a bland look while the elf snickered. Cassandra rolled her eyes but gave a small smile.

"Welcome to the Inquisition, Lavellan."

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

 **AND SO IT BEGINS**


	6. The War Council

**Alternate chapter title: "Cullen is surrounded by gorgeous women but they all scare him"**

 **But it didn't fit up there ^^^ hehe**

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.*.*. ҉ .*.*.

 **Cullen POV**

After the Inquisition was established, the town of Haven seemed to come alive. There was an undercurrent of excitement in the air, despite the anxiety of many. The people of Haven were hopeful, relieved that _something_ was being done about the Breach. People moved with purpose, soldiers throwing themselves into their training, blacksmiths and apothecaries increasing their production rate, messengers coming and going at all hours as news of the Inquisition spread like wildfire.

The elf woman had left the meeting room, claiming that exhaustion had crept up on her. Neither Cassandra nor Leliana were surprised; the elleth was still recovering from her battle wounds and losing consciousness for three days took a toll on one's body.

The day passed in a flurry of activity. Later in the afternoon, as the sun began its descent, Leliana sent Cassandra to wake Lavellan from her nap so that they could introduce her to their war council. Commander Cullen was the first to arrive, of course. His Templar training had instilled a deep sense of self-discipline, and that meant he was always five minutes early to everything. Josephine was next, entering the room with a slightly displeased look to her face that probably had something to do with the fact that she was wearing a ridiculously ruffled dress despite the cold weather. Not that anyone was surprised, sacrificing in the name of fashion was a common trait to those who were raised in court.

"Cassandra will be here shortly, with Lavellan in tow." Leliana told them.

Cullen quirked a brow. "La-vel-lan?"

"She is the one who sealed the rifts." The redheaded spymaster explained.

"Oh!" Josephine exclaimed. "So that must be an elven name, yes? I heard she was Dalish!"

The Antivan squealed, eyes lighting up in excitement. The tales of Dalish elves were often romanticized among the noble classes. Theirs was a beautiful tragedy, a proud people who cast off the chains of Tevinter and lived as one with nature – or so the stories told. The tales often failed to speak of harsh summers and cold winters, the continued prejudice of humanity, and the struggle to survive against predators, human hunters, disease and famine.

Leliana sighed. "Yes, Josie, she is a Dalish."

"No one ever tells me anything." Cullen griped jokingly. "This is the first time that I've heard anything specific about the 'Herald of Andraste'. Everyone else in Haven just talks about her 'Mark' or how Andraste sent her to us."

"She is a Dalish elf from the Lavellan Clan." Leliana informed them. "They hunt in the territories of eastern Orlais, north of the Dales between the towns of Halamshiral and Jader. According to Lavellan, she had been sent by her Keeper to spy on the Conclave."

"A spy?" Cullen's eyebrows lifted.

Leliana nodded. "Had the Conclave worked, the decisions made there would have affected all of Thedas – including the Dalish tribes, and in particular, their mages. Lavellan said that if the Chantry had chosen to condemn all mages, the Dalish tribes planned to flee to unknown territories, in order to protect their keepers and apprentices."

"Practical." Josephine tapped her chin with her quill. "But I am surprised that the Dalish actually took such precautions. They so rarely involve themselves with human affairs."

"I imagine that the Mage-Templar War has spread into their territories as well, and neither side has been very forgiving to those caught in the crossfire." Cullen said with a deep frown. "Not to mention the Templars would have labeled the Dalish Keepers as apostates, regardless of Chantry concessions on the matter."

The three of them fell into silence. Cullen was the most disturbed out of all of them. He felt a deep connection to the Templar Order. He had faced the worst-case scenario a Templar could dream of, and yet he had also witnessed how hatred could corrupt the Order. It was his disappointment at the failures of his Order and the Chantry that had driven him to joining the Inquisition after all.

They heard voices echoing in the Chantry hall, approaching them.

"Looks like they are here." Leliana spoke, just before Cassandra pushed open the door.

The Seeker held the door open as an elf followed her into the room – Lavellan, he presumed.

Cullen studied her carefully, wondering how such a strange elf could possibly slip through the security at the Conclave. She had typical elven features: tall nose, sharp cheekbones, and slanted eyes. But what surprised him was her golden brown skin that matched Josephine's tan; he had thought all elves were pale-skinned, at least in southern Thedas. He'd heard that the elves up north, Seheron specifically, were tanned and brown, but they rarely made it this far south.

Immediately Cullen noted her choice of weapons – dual blades. Lavellan's gaze flicked over the room lazily, but he was an experienced enough fighter to realize that she was studying her surroundings. As the elf stepped into the room, he realized that he could not hear her footsteps.

She was dangerous, but she hid it well.

His instincts were on edge as she returned his gaze, studying him in a distant manner. Lavellan glanced at his side, noting the sword there, and then flicked to his belt and boots. When she met his gaze again, the small tilt of her lips told him that she was well aware of the knives that he had hidden in those very spots. Oh, she was good.

He watched as she turned her inquiring gaze upon the Antivan woman, glancing over Josephine. Cullen noted that the elf's eyes lingered on Josephine's bodice and cuffs, realizing, with a start, that their ambassador was also not as helpless as she appeared.

"May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces." Cassandra introduced him.

Cullen straightened his shoulders. "Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through."

Lavellan gave him a cordial nod, but her expression remained unreadable. No doubt she was uncomfortable being surrounded by so many humans in one room.

Cassandra gestured towards Josephine. "This is Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat."

"I've heard much," The Antivan greeted her, restraining her earlier excitement. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

"And of course, you know Sister Leliana." Cassandra turned to her long-time partner.

Lavellan nodded to both women in greeting, still remaining silent.

Leliana smiled. "My position here involves a degree of –"

"She is our spymaster." Cassandra deadpanned.

Leliana gave the Seeker a frosty glare. "Yes… tactfully put, Cassandra." She bit out dryly.

At this, the elf finally showed some emotion as her lip twitched in amusement. Apparently this was not the first time she had witnessed the bantering relationship between the two Divine Hands. Cullen and Josephine were probably the only other people in the world that knew of the deep bond between the two women, despite their differences.

"Impressive titles…" She addressed the entire council with a nod. "A pleasure."

"Your Mark needs more power to close the Breach for good." Cassandra spoke, immediately getting down to business.

"Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help." Leliana put in.

 _Wait a second_. Cullen shook his head and interrupted them. "I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well."

Cassandra gave a frustrated sigh. "We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that Mark –"

"Might destroy us all." Cullen snapped, glancing apologetically at Lavellan. They were mkaing a bad impression already, it seemed. "Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so –"

"Pure speculation." Leliana interrupted with a wave of her hand. Despite her position in the Chantry and her proximity to Divine Justinia, Leliana had always supported mage freedom. It had been a matter of no small concern to many in the Chantry hierarchy.

" _I_ was a Templar." Cullen spoke with a tight voice. "I know what they're capable of."

"Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet." Josephine overruled all of them. "The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically." She glanced pointedly at Lavellan.

The elleth shrugged. "Not surprised." Then an amused smirk slid onto her face. "I'm _am_ surprised, however, that they were able to pull their heads out of their asses and actually agree on something, and in the span of a few days for that matter. Must be a Chantry record."

Cullen couldn't agree more. Cassandra and Josephine were less amused at the comment.

"Shouldn't they be arguing over who's going to become Divine?" He asked disdainfully and on a similar note. He might have been a pious Templar once, but after witnessing the repeated failings of the Chantry, there was little love left for the institution he had served.

Josephine sighed and faced Lavellan. "Some are calling you – a Dalish elf – the 'Herald of Andraste.' That frightens the Chantry." Her face became stern. "The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we, 'heretics', for harboring you."

"Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt." Cassandra muttered unpleasantly.

Lavellan's amusement did not seem to falter. "Ah yes, Roder-dick."

Cullen choked, as did a few others in the room. Cassandra seemed amused, oddly enough.

"Why didn't we just leave him in the valley?" The elleth continued. "With all the demons around, it would be easy to make his death look like an accident."

The advisors all stared at her incredulously. Cullen sighed and shook his head; such typical thinking for a rogue. Finally, Josephine cleared her throat and chose to ignore the elf's comment.

"It limits our options." She continued. "Approaching the mages or the Templars for help is currently out of the question."

Lavellan suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, and they all turned to look at her in question.

"Uh, I'm sorry, what did you mention earlier?" She asked Josephine.

The Antivan furrowed her brows. "We can't afford to meet with either of the –"

"No, earlier." The elf flapped her hands. " _What_ are people calling me?"

"Ah, yes. That." Josephine nodded. "They are claiming you to be the Herald of Andraste."

Lavellan blinked once, twice. "…the fuck…" She whispered, and then it seemed to hit her, her eyes widening as she glanced around at each of them. "Just how am _I_ the Herald of Andraste?"

She whirled around to face Cassandra. "Didn't we already have this talk?" She demanded, tugging on her ears. "I'm an _elf_! A Dalish! Why the f–"

"People saw what you did at the temple; how you stopped the Breach form growing." Cassandra interrupted her before she went on a rant. "They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste."

The elf shook her head in denial.

Leliana understood her frustration. "Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading –"

"Which we have not." Said Cassandra, and the redhead sent her another glare.

" –the point is, everyone is talking about you." Leliana continued to Lavellan.

Cullen chuckled and addressed their obviously frustrated savior. "It's quite the title, isn't it? How do you feel about that?"

The elleth crossed her arms with a frown. "They will be sadly disappointed." She gave them all pointed looks. "I am no hero, nor do I want to be."

The Champion of Kirkwall had once said something similar. Cullen understood her reluctance to become the object of such faith, one that was not even her own.

"We are not always given a choice." He told the elleth. She glared harder at the table and muttered a curse.

"People are desperate for a sign of hope." Leliana told her. "For some, you're that sign."

"And to others, a symbol of everything that's gone wrong." Josephine said rather unhelpfully, in Cullen's opinion.

"By the Creators!" Lavellan growled. "Shouldn't they be more concerned about the Breach? There's a fucking rift between the Fade and this world, and they are more concerned with rumors about me?"

Cullen echoed her sentiment, but also realized that the Chantry was full of stubborn traditionalists. "They acknowledge that the Breach is a threat." He said to Lavellan. "But they do not think _we_ , the Inquisition, can stop it."

"The Chantry is telling everyone that you'll make it worse." Josephine added. Again, very unhelpful.

The elf sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"There is something you can do." Leliana spoke up with an encouraging smile. "A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable."

"And someone from the Chantry would help a declared heretic?" Suspicion crossed Lavellan's face, not that Cullen blamed her. It was an unusual time to be receiving invites from Chantry sisters.

Leliana shrugged. "I understand that she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters?"

"…We shall see." The elf murmured.

"You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe." Leliana told her.

"Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition's influence while you're there." Cullen added, hoping that the elleth's prickly demeanor would not cause too much trouble.

Josephine nodded in agreement. "Commander Cullen is right. We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you're better suited than anyone to recruit them."

At least they hoped so. Lavellan was not looking very eager to help.

"In the meantime," Cassandra said, "Let's think of other options. I won't leave this all to the Herald."

Lavellan's expression had shuttered shut at hearing the unwelcome title, though she gave the Seeker a nod in thanks. She was staring down at the map of Thedas that had been spread out across the table which they all stood around. Green eyes flickered towards southern Ferelden.

"Leliana, have your men scout the Hinterlands before we go meet this 'Mother Giselle'." She finally spoke. "In the meantime, Josephine, can you look for opportunities to gather coin? An organization as big as the Inquisition will need funds."

While Josephine was writing down Lavellan's requests, Cullen glanced over to Leliana. The redhead gave him a smug look, obviously pleased with Lavellan's pragmatism. Cullen was surprised; Lavellan was taking charge quite easily.

"When your scouts return with their report, I'll head out with a party to the Hinterlands. I assume you will be accompanying, Cassandra?" Lavellan asked the Seeker, who nodded in confirmation. "Good. In the meantime, I need to gather some supplies."

Everyone nodded in agreement, and the elf left the room, dismissing them. The door swung shut behind her with a _thud._

There was a pause, before Leliana chuckled, making the other two women glance at her questioningly.

"She is a natural, isn't she, Cullen?" The spymaster asked him in a light voice.

Cullen shook his head with a small smile. "And she doesn't even realize it."

Cassandra was the next person to catch on, her eyes lighting up with understanding. "She might be able to command forces, but can she lead a movement?"

"We can only hope." Josephine said. "Because there is no one else who can."

"She will learn." Leliana spoke with conviction. "Being Dalish, she is no doubt uncomfortable being surrounded by so many humans. But she is willing to help, at least."

"Is she?" Cassandra asked doubtfully. "Willing to help? My impression was that the only reason she stays is because of the Mark on her hand."

"Perhaps that is what she says now," Leliana said, "But given time, I think she will become the hero that we need."

"You are awfully optimistic." Cassandra muttered.

Leliana gave them a secretive smile. Perhaps she knew better than the rest of them. She had known the Hero of Ferelden after all, and Maker knew that no one had been as unprepared to save the world as the Warden had been.

"What did you think of her, Commander?" Leliana asked him.

Cullen paused to think before he answered. Lavellan had been a little rough around the edges, but she was not completely incapable. She was a secretive person – she had revealed little about herself and kept her emotions carefully restrained until she lost her temper. Lavellan had good control over her facial expressions, and was extremely observant, all traits of a good spy. Almost too good… since when did the Dalish require spies as skillful as any professional? The Commander felt the corners of his lips tug down, but ultimately dismissed the thought.

"She is… an interesting character." He finally replied to his peers. "I am curious to her background however. Am suppose you already have agents investigating her past, Leliana?"

The spymaster smiled guiltily. "Indeed. It will be hard, however, as my spies cannot ask any of the Dalish about her past – the elves would immediately be on guard. The best I can hope for is second-hand information."

"Surely that is unnecessary?" Josephine exclaimed with disapproval.

Leliana gave her an unapologetic look. "It is simply protocol."

"Just be sure that your men are not caught." Cassandra warned the redhead. "We do not need to alienate the only person that can help us stop the Breach."

"Of course." Leliana sniffed, offended that the Seeker had so little faith in her people.

Cullen hid a smile. The two women were complete opposites, yet the two of them got along so well. They were always amusing when they were together. Divine Justinia must have thought them quite the handful.

"Yes, well, let us all get to business then." Josephine said, her quill scratching something down onto her parchment. "We have much to do, no?"

* * *

 **Leave a review please!**


	7. First Impressions

**Just to reiterate, I don't own Bioware or Dragon Age. I know, it makes me sad too.**

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 **Lavellan POV**

The next day, Lavellan decided to explore the village of Haven. She had yet to have the opportunity since she had arrived in the town, as her previous experiences had all been centered in the Chantry, with all of her attention focused on the advisors and the establishment of the Inquisition.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It unnerved her, the way everyone stared at her. As a rogue, she specialized in blending into the shadows and going unnoticed in a crowd. She did not like her sudden fame one bit. Whispers followed her, people stared at her with adoration and wonder, people bowing or nodding their heads as they made way for her. She walked stiffly, shoulders tense, senses on edge. She had always been able to sense when someone was watching her, but with the entire village focusing on her as she passed them, her instincts were going haywire.

She found her feet leading her towards the apothecary, noticing Solas through the windows of a nearby house. As she opened the door into the apothecary, she saw a man in robes giving a poor squire a tongue-lashing.

" –to send men out to actual gather herbs!" The man in the robes yelled. "Unless you'd rather I make health poultices out of deathroot?"

The boy in armor stuttered. She found herself amused.

"Now get out, and don't come back until you fix your stupidity!" The robed man practically shoved the squire out the doorway. He turned to face Lavellan. "And what do _you_ want?"

"Well I _was_ going to stock up on health poultices, but as I just heard, you are quite low on supplies." Lavellan commented off-handedly.

"You got that right." The man muttered, pausing to study her face. "Wait… Ha! Look who's back from the dead. Again."

She nodded to him. "I found one of your notes about treating me. You have my thanks."

"Name's Adan." The cranky man introduced himself. "I'm in charge of keeping this placed stocked with elixirs and potions." Then he muttered under his breathe, "Which was not what I signed up for. I'm an alchemist, not a healer."

Lavellan's ears perked up. "You're an alchemist?"

He glanced at her. "Yeah, what's it to you?"

"What stocks do you have?" She asked him.

He growled. "None! I don't even have enough for a good health potion."

 _Oh, but I wasn't looking for a health potion…_ She thought glibly. "So what _do_ you have in stock?"

"Just deep mushroom, spindleweed, deathroot, an embrium or two…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"So if I asked you to distill five deathroots and mix it with ten ounces of concentrated deep mushroom, would you make it for me?" She asked nonchalantly as she picked at a nail.

"Of course I can! But that won't do you any good with a wound –" The man paused as the recipe clicked in his head. Then a wicked grin slid onto her face and he smirked back at her. "Fightin' dirty, eh?"

Lavellan shrugged innocently.

"Careful," Adan warned. "Dabbling in poisons might cost you your reputation."

"Then I suggest you do not mention it, no?" She replied lowly, eyes glinting.

He quirked a brow at her threat, before huffing. "Definitely fightin' dirty now, lass."

She smirked. "How about this – you keep your mouth shut, and I'll acquire whatever ingredients you need for your potions or experiments. Deal?"

Adan looked at her for a moment with a critical eye, and then threw his head back and laughed harshly. "Ha! I like ya, girlie. Sure, sounds like a good deal to me."

"And no questions about the concoctions I request." Lavellan warned, holding a finger to her lips. "Regardless of their… potency."

"Why of course…" The alchemist chuckled darkly. "I'm gonna like workin' for you, lass."

"Then I'll leave you to make that for me, yes?"

She gave him a conspiratorial smile as she walked out of the doorway.

.*.*. ҉ .*.*.

 **Solas POV**

He wasn't sure what to think about this 'Inquisition' that the humans had established. Its goals were certainly admirable, certainly necessary, but Solas had always been wary of holy wars. Sure, saving the world and closing the Breach did not seem like a religious crusade at first, at least until one took a look at how the Inquisition was gaining support: led by the Left and Right hands of the previous Divine, their figurehead the supposed 'Herald' of their Maker, and an army of the faithful. Already the Inquisition was gaining the support of the Chantry's followings, and if those forces were utilized incorrectly, they could accomplish what the previous Exalted Marches could not – the extermination of all non-Andrastians.

It was unlikely, however, with their blessed 'Herald' being a Dalish elf and all. Yet another curiosity for Solas: How did she fit into all this? What was a Dalish elf even doing at the Conclave? She was not even a mage, so how did she survive the Mark? Even with Solas' attentions in the immediate aftermath of the explosion, he had not expected the Dalish woman to survive the Mark's imprinting.

And here she was now, exiting the apothecary's hut with an unreadable expression, sharp eyes flickering to catch every detail of her surroundings.

'Speak of the Wolf, and it shall come', as he had often heard the Dalish say.

Lavellan was rather tall for an elven woman in this era, but she would have been the appropriate height for an elf that had not spent centuries living in slavery and squalor. She had long black hair that was pulled up into a high ponytail and plaited in a braid that fell down the length of her back, with loose strands framing her face, a few rebellious bangs falling into her eyes, to which she blew away in annoyance. Her eyes were dark and hooded, but flecks of forest green were revealed whenever the light caught them, her face carefully devoid of expression.

Most curious for Solas was her skin tone. He had met elves that were tanned from spending their days in the sun, but he had never actually met elves that were golden brown like she was. He idly wondered if she was from the North, perhaps one of the coastal regions. He had heard of dark-skinned elves living in the mysterious lands of Seheron. It seemed to make her _vallaslin_ glow in contrast, her ink a warm green color that seemed to shimmer in the light, their lines marking her as an adherent to Dirthamen.

 _Curious. Not many Dalish choose him as their patron god these days._ Solas thought to himself. Most Dalish felt a closer connection to Andruil of the hunt, Elgar'nan of the warrior path, or Mythal of justice. Dirthamen was almost unknown to the modern Dalish, known only to the Dalish as the god of secrets. He was a darker god, one that made the Dalish wary despite the absence of the pantheon. The mark was simpler than other gods, made up of dotted lines and single arcs that had a skeletal on her forehead, cheekbones, and chin. It had a eerie, skeletal effect on her dark skin, making her seem ghostly if not for the spark of emotion in her eyes.

"The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all." He said in greeting as she passed him, her eyes set on the apothecary's cabin.

She paused at his voice, and turned to frown at his chosen greeting. "That is a bunch of nugshit, and you know it."

 _How eloquent._ He thought dryly, unfazed by her less-than-cordial reply.

"I'm only here to get this stupid Mark off of my hand and high-tail myself outta here." Lavellan grumbled, holding up her glowing hand and wrinkling her nose as she wiggled her fingers.

He lifted a brow at her blasé attitude. "The Breach is not your main concern?"

He knew that she was not as oblivious as she appeared, but her nonchalant behavior could be mistaken as uncaring by others in the Inquisition. If she was going to be their leader – which she had no choice – she should learn how to connect with her followers.

"I have no interest in playing the hero." Lavellan told him plainly, lifting a brow almost arrogantly, as if daring him to lecture her otherwise. "If it were not for this Mark, I would not be here. I would rather that Cassandra or Cullen had ended up with this Mark. They are far more righteous than I."

"Perhaps it is not righteousness that we need in a hero." Solas hummed with a thoughtful expression. "Your input is less likely to be biased towards the Chantry, which is probably for the better, given its recent failings."

"You are nevertheless labeling me as a hero." Lavellan leaned back and crossed her arms, gazing at him with dismissive amusement. It irked him that this ignorant Dalish, this _child_ , would be so condescending to him. _Typical Dalish_ , Solas thought in annoyance, and turned to gaze up at the cloudy sky.

"I have journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten…"

Her eyes glazed over and after a moment, he realized that she had zoned out. He felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance.

"Every great war has its heroes." Solas turned back to Lavellan, who blinked quickly, attempting to make herself look like she had been paying attention. "I'm just curious as to what kind you'll be."

The other elf visibly gritted her teeth. "I. Am. No. Hero."

Solas studied her for a moment. _Then what are you?_ He wondered, the question holding much more meaning than he had intended. Finally, he replied, "I don't think that you have been given a choice on the matter, Miss Lavellan."

Lavellan rolled her eyes at him. "Save it. I've already heard that line today, and it was one too many times."

 _No doubt the war council were attempting to persuade her to be their blessed and glorious leader._ Solas thought, his gaze falling on the green mark upon her hand. _Herald of Andraste… what a foolish notion._

"Anyway," The elleth continued, breaking the mage out of his reverie. "I was just stopping by to inform you that Cassandra and I will be heading out into the Hinterlands in a day or two. I assume that you will be joining us, given your knowledge of these rifts?"

Solas glanced at her with raised brows, shocked that she would be so willing to invite an apostate to travel with her. He remembered when they had fought beside each other in order to seal the first rift; he had not missed the way she flinched when his magic came too close to her, or the veiled suspicion that had been in her eyes. But he quickly gathered himself and nodded formally to her.

"I am willing." He replied. "If I may ask, what will be our business in the Hinterlands?"

"To make friends in high places." Lavellan said dryly, a wry tilt to her lips. "To be more specific, we are meeting with an influential Chantry cleric who is willing to lend her support to the Inquisition, for some odd reason; don't ask me why."

His lips twitched in amusement against his better judgement. _Cold and callous, yet you still lend your aid. Are you as hard-hearted as you appear? Or is there an ulterior motive in helping the Inquisition?_

"We are expecting plenty of mage-templar fighting in the area, so make sure you are armed and ready to fight." Lavellan continued, unaware of his thoughts on her. "However our local apothecary is out of elfroot, so I suggest that you hoard any health poultices that you can find."

Solas glanced back towards the apothecary with raised brows. "Out of elfroot? Does he not realize that it grows plenty in this region?"

Lavellan shrugged. "Apparently the guards have not deemed it an important chore, and his apprentice has gone missing. I was hoping to gather some elfroot for him while we are travelling."

 _Incompetent humans._ The elf sighed to himself. "Then I will make some for our party." Solas informed her. "That way we are not wholly unprepared in our travels."

Lavellan glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "That… I would appreciate that." She murmured, seemingly taken aback at his generosity.

Solas waved away her thanks. "'Tis is only practical."

"Indeed." She mused, and turned to leave him.

He watched her go with a sense of foreboding. Her feet whispered over the snow with nary a sound, her braid flicking in the wind like a cat's tail, back and forth. She walked with a hunch to her shoulders, and yet there was unwavering strength in the set of her shoulders and the glint in her eyes.

She was touched by Fate.

He pitied her.

.*.*. ҉ .*.*.

 **Lavellan POV**

She strode down the stairs, bypassing the tavern and towards the gates of Haven. She had been informed that the blacksmith was located just outside the gates, and she intended to get her hands on a proper set of daggers before she headed into the Hinterlands.

Approaching the main walkway of the village, Lavellan recognized a familiar head of blonde on a rather stout body. Varric was standing with his arms crossed, gazing into the fire lit between a couple of tents. The dwarf was frowning, the flickering of the flames were reflected in his troubled eyes. She wondered what he was thinking about – troubled about the Breach perhaps?

 _Tch, why should I care?_ She pushed such silly thoughts away. Lavellan took a moment to study this latest companion of hers, as she had with Solas.

Varric had that shifty look to him that all surface dwarves did, but the dirty blonde hair swept neatly into a half-ponytail and that well-made and well-worn coat of his bespoke of a comfortable amount of money. The embroidery of his tunic and the casual presence of gold in his earring and simple chain necklace told her that he was likely merchant class, and probably had more influence than he presented.

The dwarf knelt down next to the fire, poking the logs with a long stick and causing the flames to flare. Lavellan could tell when he noticed her presence, as he darted a glance at her boots, and followed them upwards to her face. She approached him after he waved her over.

"So…" Varric spoke first as she drew level with him. "Now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most-wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day."

She snorted at his observation. "I'm a fast worker." The elleth replied dryly, and then shrugged as she answered his original question. "It's not the first time that I've been caught up is such… drama. Although never anything on an apocalyptic scale, I'll admit."

"I'd hope not." The dwarf said in an equally dry tone. "For days now, we've been staring at the Breach watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. 'Bad for morale' would be an understatement. I still can't believe anyone was in there and lived! You would have to be one unlucky bastard to have gone through it twice."

Lavellan smirked back at him. "Thankfully, it has not come to that just yet."

Varric gave an amused huff and stood up, brushing the snow and soot on his hands onto his trousers.

"Oh, and before I forget," The elleth spoke up. "Cassandra and I will be setting out for the Hinterlands in a day or two. You and Solas have been invited to come along, if you so wish."

The dwarf raised a brow at her. "Invited? Awfully polite for a Dalish, aren't you?"

Lavellan gave him a questioning glance.

"Don't look at me like that, I've had my own experiences with Dalish elves before." Varric gave her a pointed look. "And they have never been a very friendly sort. Except for Daisy, but she was her own brand of crazy."

 _I won't deny that. They're pretty proud of that reputation too._

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not a nice person." She shrugged. "However, Keeper Deshanna was never one to tolerate ill-manners."

"Even to non-elves?" He asked her in a disbelieving voice.

"Actually, yes." Lavellan conceded with a nod. "The Lavellan clan is considered quite liberal amongst the Dalish tribes."

Varric snorted. "Never thought I'd hear the word 'Dalish' and 'liberal' in the same sentence."

The elleth gave a noncommittal hum.

"…So, the Hinterlands huh?" The dwarf mused. "And you invited the apostate?"

She gave him a probing look. "Do you have a problem with mages, Varric?"

"Wouldn't be the first time I've worked with apostates." He shrugged. "I just haven't had the best of experiences with them in recent years."

"Haven't we all?" Lavellan muttered in agreement. "But Solas seems to be quite disciplined. And he is useful."

The dwarf sighed. "I suppose you're right. Personal grievances aside, we're gonna need the help of more than a few mages before all of this is over. Magic started this shit, and only magic can fix it."

"Unfortunately true." Lavellan sighed, rubbing her forehead, annoyed at the entire situation.

He glanced at her, his eyes flicking from her clean hair to her new clothes. "So, what made you change your mind?"

"About what?" The elleth looked down at him quizzically.

"Well, when we first met, you were more than a little resentful about being dragged into this mess." Varric pointed out. "Now you're telling me to suit up and move out? I would have thought Cassandra would be the one rallying the troops."

She frowned at his words. "Don't get the wrong idea. The moment that I am free of this stupid Mark, I'm leaving."

Varric crossed his arms and stared pointedly into the fire. Silence stretched between them, yet she knew that their conversation was not over. She could see his thoughts turning in his mind as he found the words which he wanted to say.

"I like to think I'm as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this?" Varric muttered while shaking his head. "Thousands of people died on that mountain – I was almost one of them. And now there's a hole in the sky. Even I can't walk away and just leave that to sort itself out."

 _Oh great, now he's trying to guilt me into caring. Ugh._ Outwardly, Lavellan merely shrugged. "Then it's a good thing that I _am_ selfish and irresponsible."

Varric shifted and looked up at her from the corner of his eye. "I wouldn't blame you for running." He admitted to her, much to Lavellan's surprise. "I've written enough tragedies to know where this is going."

"Yup." Lavellan nodded with a grim smirk. "We're all gonna die."

"Thanks for the reassurance." Varric glared at her, and she snickered in response.

Awkwardly, the elleth patted his shoulder and left him to brood. She turned and walked down the steps towards the main entrance, making a quick stop at a nearby merchant to sell off some of the knick-knacks that she had 'acquired' (read: looted and/or stole) during her last adventure. As she exited the gates, she took note of the soldiers practicing their drills in a field off to the right, and made a mental note to examine their skills.

But first, weapons.

.*.*. ҉ .*.*.

After spending a good half-hour haggling with the blacksmith over weapon prices (which were horribly overpriced) she caught sight of the soldiers in training and headed over to watch them. Walking down the snow-ridden path, she shivered and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to warm the points of her ears. Elf ears were so damn sensitive. She rubbed her nose as well, in a paltry attempt to get some warmth there too.

As she approached the training field, she immediately noticed the presence of the Seeker. Cassandra was a tall woman, muscular but not bulky, yet imposing due to her ever-present glower. She was a better warrior than most, not only because of her skill with a sword, but also in her precision and strategy. Lavellan usually considered sword and shield warriors as bulky and cumbersome, but Cassandra had proved her wrong in being surprisingly agile in battle despite her shield.

At the moment, it appeared that one of the practice dummies had severely insulted the Seeker, judging by the ferocity with which she attacked it. _Hack, slice, bam!_ And the dummy fell to the ground in pieces. Lavellan raised her brows at this.

 _The Seeker certainly never fails to impress._

"Imagining Roder-dick, perhaps?" The elleth drawled as she approached the warrior woman, giving the fallen practice dummy a pointed look as she kicked it with one of her boots. "Huh. Impressive."

"You flatter me." Cassandra responded dryly, then gave a forlorn sigh as she sheathed her weapon. "Did I do the right thing?" She asked with a lost expression on her face.

Lavellan shrugged in response, leaning onto one leg and placing a hand on her hip to wait for the Seeker to clarify.

"What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life." She muttered as she moved on to another practice dummy, falling into a battle stance and drawing her blade, leveling a hard gaze at her target. "One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool… And they may be right."

 _Aren't we all just a little mad?_ Her inner crazy giggled a bit. Lavellan stepped around the woman as she lunged for the dummy, rounding her to stand on her open side. When Cassandra had finished a combination of slices and blocks upon the target, the elleth spoke up.

"I am no inspirational speaker," Lavellan began, "So I will not pretend to know what words that you want to hear to make you feel better."

The Seeker snorted. "I care not for comfort, Lavellan. If you have something to say, then say it."

 _I can appreciate that kind of attitude._ Lavellan thought with approval. "Very well." The elf nodded, leaning back and crossing her arms. " _You_ instigated the Inquisition. Why? What was so important that you felt there was no other option but this?"

Cassandra paused in her attacks, lowering her blade and straightening from her stance. She glanced at Haven, and then at the mountains, where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had once stood.

"…I do not think that you were behind the attack on the Conclave. There is more going on here than anyone can yet fathom." She said to Lavellan as she gave a frustrated huff. "We needed to act! But I knew that the Chantry was not willing to, and none of the kingdoms of Thedas were particularly involved in the Conclave to immediately come to aid."

"People died at the Conclave – my _friends_ – and I would not let their deaths go unanswered. If we did not act, I knew that no one else would." Cassandra let her sword dip until the tip of its blade touched the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut. "But is this the Maker's will? I can only guess."

Lavellan scowled at the Seeker's plea for the Maker. The elf had never been one to believe in gods – sure the Dalish had their pantheon, but according to legend, their gods had been locked away. So they lived in a godless world anyway, discounting the Dread Wolf.

"The Maker is not going to save our asses." The elf told Cassandra without softening her words. "You're previous statements were true: there was no one else in a position to act in the aftermath of the Conclave. We cannot always wait on the mercy of a god – this is something the Dalish have learned time and time again."

The Seeker gave her an unreadable look, before replying in a low voice. "I knew that there would be resistance from the Chantry. But your Mark is the only defense we have against the rifts. It is our only chance to close the Breach. And when we do that, we will hunt down those who are responsible for this chaos, and we will end them. Whatever consequences I must face when all of this is over… Then I will pay whatever I must."

Lavellan hummed at that, mulling over her words. _Why am I even so concerned with this? This isn't my problem._

Cassandra interrupted her thoughts by speaking once more.

"My trainer always said, 'Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.'" She said to the elf. "But I see what must be done, and I do it. I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again."

At this, Lavellan chuckled.

"I did not blame you for your conclusions." The elf told her. "They were perfectly logical. I was frustrated at the circumstances, but I did not blame you for it. If someone thought they could set me up to take the fall for what happened at the Conclave, they did a damn good job."

Cassandra studied the elf's face for a moment, probably uncomforted by Lavellan's casual dismissal of her almost-execution. "That does not make it right. I had no proof."

"Human courts have never required proof to condemn elves before." Lavellan laughed harshly. "To be honest, I never expected a fair trial, especially when it was an elf versus the Chantry. I expected to be the scapegoat, regardless of whether anyone actually thought me guilty."

The Seeker looked as if she was going to protest, before she froze and a guilty look crossed her face. "…I suppose you are right."

Again, Lavellan shrugged. It was a harsh truth, one that humans were often too willing to overlook. Cassandra turned away from her and made as if to walk away, when she paused. The Seeker turned back to face her, a curious look on her face.

"I realize that you are Dalish… but what is your view of the Maker?" She asked curiously. There was something in her eyes, as if searching for an answer in Lavellan.

Lavellan was not sure that she was comfortable with that look.

"The Maker, huh?" The elf sighed, uncrossing her arms and putting her weight onto one leg, a hand on her hip while the other hung at her side. "I don't really believe in any gods. The Dalish pantheon is said to be unable to help their own people, locked away, betrayed by one of their own. Even without such stories, I am not one to rely on fortune, or the benevolence of an unseen deity."

Cassandra studied her for a moment. "That is… a rather pragmatic way of looking at it."

Lavellan smirked.

 _The only blessing that a rogue needed was that of Lady Luck._

* * *

 **Please leave a review! I know there are people lurking out there haha.**


	8. Fck the Hinterlands

.*. *.  ҉ .*.*.

It was hard to fall asleep that night. She tossed and turned in frustration, her ire increasing with each passing hour. She had to wake up at dawn to set out for the Hinterlands, and yet she was not even drowsy! Lavellan knew what the problem was, not that it would help her lack of sleep. This town, this house, this bed, these sheets… they were all unfamiliar. The air was cold and bitter as she huddled into her quilts, so very unlike the warmer winds of Jader, which had always been tinged with salt from the nearby sea. The soothing sounds of the forest during the night were absent, replaced by the grunt of a soldier or a barking dog. Even the cabin that she slept in seemed to echo with emptiness, bearing none of the homely warmth that the aravels had offered.

 _Oh yeah, and my hand glows a hideous green all night._

She clenched her left fist in an attempt to dowse its light, but to no avail.

In the dark it was harder to push away the despair that threatened to engulf her. Longing swept through her like a physical ache as she thought of the trees and the open air and the clan. Lavellan remembered the way Keeper Deshanna had soothed her to sleep, idly running fingers through her hair until she slipped into dreams, the croon of the halla near the camp. She wanted to leave this stupid place; she wanted to go back.

Lavellan gripped the blankets harder, digging her fingers into the sheets.

 _Don't you dare cry._ She snarled inwardly at herself. _Don't you dare. You will stay strong._

She squeezed her eyes shut and released a shuddering breath. Lavellan shoved her glowing hand under the pillow to hide its light, and curled into a ball. She never quite fell asleep that night, but as her breath evened out and her muscles relaxed, she slipped into meditation.

 _It wasn't supposed to be this way…_ She thought as the nightmares began.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

Despite the all the awe and splendor that the Inquisition inspired, the organization was still in its infancy. Ergo, they had no money, no supplies, and barely any force of substance.

Lavellan wrinkled her nose at the sight of the horses that had been provided for herself and her companions for their trip to the Hinterlands. Or should she say… mules. Well, they weren't actually mules, but they might as well have been. These horses had probably been donations from well-intentioned farmers or minor nobles, and had spent most of their lives pulling plows than carrying soldiers.

 _Andraste's tits, what if they shy from our swords?!_ It suddenly occurred to her, and Lavellan forced herself not to groan.

Beside her, the Seeker was eyeing the horses with similar distaste. "These horses were not meant for battle."

"Obviously." The elleth muttered in reply. "They'll probably bolt just from our swords tapping their rumps!"

Cassandra nodded in agreement. "Let us hope not. I'd rather not walk all the way to the Hinterlands."

With that, the group mounted their horses. Cassandra and Lavellan made it look easy, while Solas – usually so unflappable – looked a little off balance as he swung his leg over the horse. Watching Varric was the most hilarious thing the elleth had ever seen, however. Dwarves were never meant to ride horses, as was exemplified by their rather stout companion. The Inquisition soldiers had tried to make things easier by assigning him to a pony, but nevertheless, dwarf legs were not long enough to ever mount a horse.

"Thrice-damned piece of nugshit!" Varric muttered angrily as he was forced to allow a soldier give him a boost. The man was respectful enough to keep a blank expression as he let the dwarf step onto his knee and helped to push him into the saddle seat.

"I fuckin' hate horses! Andraste's flamin' knickers!" Varric hissed as he grasped the saddle horn for dear life.

 _Oh this is good. This is great! This just made my day!_ Lavellan held her fingers to her lips to stifle her giggles. Her eyes darted over to the Seeker, and her amusement doubled when she saw the shit-eating smirk that Cassandra sported while watching Varric's embarrassment.

Cassandra, after realizing that the elleth was watching her, quickly wiped the expression off of her face and cleared her throat. "W-We should get moving."

Lavellan nodded, although a few giggles escaped.

Varric sent her a deadly glare.

She shrugged unapologetically in response, and winked back at him. The dwarf continued to curse under his breath as they headed out. Cassandra and Lavellan had taken the lead, with Solas and Varric behind them, making a square formation as they rode. Varric was no experienced rider, for obvious reasons, and so his pony had been tied by a long rope to Lavellan's so that he would not have to steer.

The morning passed quickly as they headed east into the heart of Ferelden. They had to be careful not to lose their direction as they traveled, as there would be no proper roads until they neared Redcliffe. For now, they followed the rivers which flowed down from the Frostbacks towards the lowlands.

If Lavellan closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that the hoof beats were those of halla, and that the people travelling with her were Dalish clansmen, not strangers.

And so she did, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. The smell of the forest was comforting, even if she could tell that it was not _her_ forest. The air was crisp with the mountain chill, filled with the smell of pine and oak, whereas she was used to a more earthy-smelling forest, with winds tainted by salt and brine. Still, the whisper of wind in the leaves, the scuttle of wildlife, and the sloshing of the rivers nearby was comforting.

She had the sudden need to kick her horse into a canter, to gallop full-tilt across the countryside, run away and never look back. It would only take a second to slice the rope connecting her horse to Varric's pony, and then she would dig her heels into the horse's sides, leaning forward as it leapt into a run. She would press herself low onto its back, digging her heels down into the stirrups to keep her balance. The air would whip her face, her horse's mane and tail one with the wind as they cantered, farther and farther away, away from this mess, this war, this apocalypse…

"It will take all day to reach the Hinterlands."

Lavellan jolted forcefully as Cassandra's voice interrupted her vision. The party gave her questioning looks at her surprised jerk. Her horse nickered beneath her, stomping its feet as it sensed her tension.

"Daydream." The elleth muttered as an excuse.

The Seeker hummed. "As I was saying," She continued. "We will probably reach the Hinterlands by nightfall. Leliana said her scouts set up camp in the northern parts, on a ridge overlooking Redcliffe Road. The entire countryside is a battleground between the mages and the Templars, so we should be on our guard as we approach."

Lavellan nodded. "I see. Is the camp in a secure location?"

Cassandra gave her a 'duh' look. "Leliana is thorough."

 _That's what makes her so scary…_ Lavellan thought, half in amusement, half with serious wariness of the spymaster.

The rest of the day was as boring as she expected. Traveling with the Dalish was much more fun – there was always some adolescent falling off their halla, children laughing or arguing from the aravels, Keeper Deshanna tirelessly recounting legends of old. The men would joke, the women would gossip, and the teenagers would flirt with horrible subtly. Sometimes their hahren would start a song or a chant, and the whole clan would join in for a few minutes, filling the air with their lilting voices.

 _I just want to go back…_ Lavellan lamented for the umpteenth time. It wasn't just the intimidating presence of Cassandra, Leliana, or any of the other companions that prevented her from running away – it was the anticipated disappointment and/or anger of Keeper Deshanna if she abandoned such duty. Most likely, the keeper would send her right back to the Inquisition, in chains if she had to, in order to force her to save the world.

"Seriously, the quiet is killing me here." Varric's voice sliced through the air.

Beside her, the Seeker gave an annoyed huff. "What do you suggest, Varric?"

"I dunno, a story perhaps?" The dwarf replied.

"Well, stories are _your_ specialty, Varric." Solas pointed out, speaking for the first time since they left Haven. "Why don't you tell us one?"

The dwarf sputtered. "Me?" He scoffed. "You want me to just make up a story?"

"Or tell one that you already know." Cassandra pointed out.

Varric chuckled. "Okay, I suppose I set myself up for that one. Any suggestions?"

No one spoke.

"Seeker? Chuckles?" The dwarf turned to Lavellan and narrowed his eyes as he thought of a nickname for her.

 _I wait with eager anticipation._ The elf thought dryly.

"Cheekbones?"

"No." She immediately replied.

Varric shook his head, no that didn't quite fit this strange elf girl.

"Cranky?"

"Do you want a blade up your ass?"

"I'll take that as a no…"

The young woman turned around on her horse and gave the dwarf a pointed look. Varric held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay… we'll leave your attitude out of this."

Lavellan rolled her eyes and turned back around.

…

…

…

"I'd call you Broody, but that name's already taken."

"Just shut up or tell a story, dwarf."

"Geez, fine." Varric grumbled as he continued to squint at Lavellan's back, various nicknames shuffling through his mind. Hm, story, story, what to tell?

"So, anyone have a particular genre in mind?" He questioned aloud.

"I believe humor would be the most conducive to traveling." Solas answered him with an oddly serious tone.

The dwarf chuckled. "You make it sound like a science, Chuckles."

In the end, Varric told them a story from his days in Kirkwall. It involved the knight-captain, an old friend of his named Aveline, who had to be the most romantically-stunted woman in the world. Cassandra was little disgruntled at first, given her similarities with the woman, however as Varric went on to describe Aveline's clumsy attempts at courting a fellow guardsmen, Donnic, even Cassandra found herself chuckling. Lavellan snickered the entire time, and let out a bark of laughter when Varric got to 'three goats and a sheaf of wheat'. Solas looked positively mortified for the poor woman.

"A dowry? Seriously?" Lavellan scoffed. "Isn't that traditionally for the men to give to the women?"

Varric smirked back at her. "Yes."

Lavellan paused for a moment, before a wicked look crossed her face. "Oh I see. She's totally the man in that relationship, isn't she? The dominant one?"

Varric laughed at that, until his expression turned abruptly to horror. "Oh Maker, that was not a mental image that I ever wanted to see."

"Oh?" Lavellan smirked. "Entertaining dirty thoughts, are we?"

"No, no!" Varric shook his head and waved his hands. "Changing the subject _right now_."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lavellan saw Cassandra's lips tilt upwards. It seemed the surest way to get the Seeker to smile was anything that caused Varric mental scarring. Such as imagining his friends naked.

 _Oh, what about the Champion? I hear she was a looker._

Lavellan glanced at the green tinge of Varric's face and decided that she would spare him the additional discomfort and save that particular question for later. Glancing at the sky, she was surprised to realize that the sun was sinking low on the horizon. Mid-afternoon, if she had to guess. They should be approaching proper roads soon.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the ground before them evened out, and a path of packed dirt crossed in front of them. They turned onto it, the road taking them northeast towards where they assumed Redcliffe to be.

"Be on you guard." Cassandra told them. "The area is not safe."

Everyone put a hand on their weapon, resting it there.

Lavellan could tell that they had entered the Hinterlands now. The rocky ground turned grassy, and plants better suited to the warm climate popped up, such as embrium and bonnet flowers. There was evidence of conflict everywhere: charred patches of grass, random spots of un-melting ice, sliced tree branches and blood spatter.

She did not blink as they passed the bodies, keeping her face carefully neutral. Cassandra frequently expressed her disgust at the civil war, cursing the apostates and Templars alike for the chaos they had sown. Solas' gaze often lingered on the dead mages – _I guess we know where his sympathies lie_ – while Varric was, surprisingly, just as expressionless as she was.

 _He has witnessed such bloodshed before._ She realized.

Despite the conflict in the area, they could not slow down, or risk becoming involved in the fighting. They were often forced to detour off the road in order to avoid Templar or mages, or even both as they dueled each other in the middle of the forest. Finally, as they approached a stone arch that signaled that they had neared Redcliffe, they knew that they had arrived. Cassandra pulled out a map that Leliana had given her that would help guide them to the Inquisition base camp.

The Seeker took the lead, urging their horses up a steep hill that made Varric grip his saddle horn in terror. Lavellan leaned forward, giving her horse the leverage to climb the hill, and noticed Cassandra unconsciously do the same. To her amusement, both Solas and Varric looked rather uncomfortable at the sharp angle of the incline, although the elf hid it better than the dwarf.

"It is around here somewhere…" Cassandra muttered as their ascended the hill and looked around.

All they could see were trees.

The whistle of a bird cut through the air.

Lavellan narrowed her eyes as she whipped out her blade.

"Show yourself!" She called out as her horse stomped its feet, sensing the tension in her muscles.

Cassandra briefly glanced at her before she, too, drew her blade, glancing around the thicket. Across from them, the bushes rustled, and Lavellan leaned forward, glaring in the direction of the sound.

"Peace! We are agents of the Inquisition." A voice answered her from the trees as a figure stepped out. It was a male soldier, wearing the Inquisition's armor, though his face was obscured by his helmet.

"We were expecting you." He greeted them as he crossed his fist over his chest and gave a short bow. "The Lady Seeker and the Herald, yes?"

Lavellan squirmed at the unfamiliar and unwanted title.

"Indeed." Cassandra answered for them.

"Then please follow me. You will have to dismount your horses however, as it is difficult to navigate the trail into camp." The soldier told them.

 _At least we know it will be hard for people to ambush us, or even find us._ Lavellan thought as she gathered her reins and swung her leg over the horse's rump, sliding off of the horse and landing on the ground. She kept her hands on the saddle for a moment until her legs were steady, ignoring the awful ache in her thighs. It had been some time since she had last spent an entire day in the saddle.

Cassandra dismounted with the same ease, and Solas – well, at least Solas could dismount on his own, though ungracefully. Before he could catch her looking at him, Lavellan turned her gaze towards Varric, who was looking very unsure of himself. However, being a selfish bitch, she made no move to offer him any help, and instead waited to laugh at whatever attempt he made at a dismount.

Varric did not disappoint.

He carefully gathered the reins in one hand, as he had watched Lavellan and Cassandra do, and tried to swing his leg off of the horse.

 _"_ _Oomph!"_ He gasped as he slid off of the horse completely and landed on his back, knocking the breath out of him. The horse snorted at this and sidestepped to give its rider room while Varric groaned in pain. "God _dammit_ that hurt like a motherfucker!"

Solas came to his rescue, offering the dwarf a hand and helping him to his feet. After giving Varric a sympathetic look, the elf returned to his own horse. Cassandra and Lavellan exchanged amused glances.

The soldier cleared his throat.

"Right." The Seeker nodded. "Lead the way."

The Inquisition camp was not much farther up on the hill, but one would never know it. Lavellan had to give these scouts credit, they knew how to go unnoticed. It was not surprising, Leliana only employed the best, or so she had been told. Their horses were taken to a fenced off portion of land near the mountainside, far away from the cliff yet not easily accessible should someone attack them. There were tents lined up around the perimeter, and a few supply tables further into camp.

The group walked up to what looked to be the main tent – well, walk being a loose term. Cassandra strode confidently, Lavellan walked briskly to ignore the ache in her legs, while the two men in their group practically limped from the pain of the saddle.

 _Men and saddles just don't get along, do they?_ Lavellan thought with a smirk, then winced at her own pain between the legs. _Okay, karma, I deserved that._

"The Herald of Andraste! I've heard the stories…"

An awed voice interrupted her musings, and Lavellan snapped back to attention. A pretty dwarven woman approached them dressed in Inquisition armor. She had an expressive face, pert nose, and auburn hair pulled into a tight bun. Lavellan was instantly jealous of her pale green eyes, which shone like bright gemstones as she stared at her.

 _And yet I was cursed with these ugly black-green eyes that are basically the color of – of… Oh Creators, it's the exact same color as those stupid rifts! Ugh._ Lavellan inwardly grumped. _Ha-ha fate, very funny. Not._

Meanwhile, the dwarf woman continued to speak. "Inquisition scout Harding, at your service."

 _Oops, what did I miss?_

"I – all of us – we'll do whatever we can to help." The dwarf woman (dwarfess?) told her.

Lavellan nodded, pretending that she had been paying attention the whole time, and gave her a polite smile, which looked more like a grimace on the unfriendly elleth.

"Harding, huh?" Varric asked with an oddly amused look on his face. "Ever been to Kirkwall's Hightown?"

Cassandra gave a disgusted huff, for whatever reason.

"Can't say that I have." Scout Harding replied with a quizzical look on her face. "Why?"

Varric looked like he was delivering the punchline to a joke as he said, "'Cause you'd be Harding in…" He finally realized that no one knew what he was talking about. "Oh never mind…"

Cassandra sent the dwarf a deadpan expression, as if to say 'you're not funny, Varric'. Lavellan smirked at the disappointed look on the dwarf's face.

"Anyway…" Lavellan drawled as she tore her gaze from the glowering pair. "How're things here? I've heard the Hinterlands are not exactly the best vacation spot at the moment."

"I'll say." Scout Harding gave an annoyed huff. "The entire place is chaos. Everyone is fighting everyone else, and you never know when some stray fireball is going to fall out of the sky."

"As if we need more things falling out of the sky." Varric muttered.

"We came here to secure horses from Redcliffe's old horse master." Harding continued. "I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet's herds were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn't get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he's even still alive."

 _Just great_. Lavellan frowned. Just how widespread was this mage-templar conflict?

"Mother Giselle is at the Crossroads helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war's spread there too." Harding informed them. "Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won't be able to hold out very long."

 _I feel like I've just been handed a list of chores. Except instead of washing the dishes, I'm killing the bandits. And mages. And Templars. And demons._ Lavellan sighed. _Well, at least I'm good at killing things._

"You best get going. No time to lose." Harding said as another scout walked up to them and handed her a report. The dwarf turned away from them and began conversing with her scout.

 _Go save the world now. Please and thank you._ Lavellan rubbed the back of her neck tiredly, rolling her shoulders. Turning back to face her companions, she gestured towards the tents. "Get some rest. We'll save the world tomorrow."

"Praise the Maker." Varric muttered as he crawled over to one of the tents and disappeared into it.

Cassandra grudgingly conceded to the elf's decision, walking towards another tent that was far from the one that Varric had claimed.

"You seem to be taking this well." Solas spoke from behind her.

Lavellan turned to face him, hiding the surprise she felt at his conversation. She had figured him as a quiet, studious man, as he had spoken little in the time she had known him.

"What do you mean?" She asked him.

"Being the 'Herald of Andraste'." He replied. "Suddenly you're leading Inquisition efforts and giving orders to soldiers. I did not expect a Dalish elf to be capable of adjusting so quickly, no offense."

Lavellan did not reply for a moment, studying Solas with an unabashed gaze. Then, she snorted.

"Do I amuse you?" Solas lifted a brow at her.

"You do." She answered him. "I would expect such prejudice from humans, but an elf criticizing a Dalish? How ironic."

Solas frowned. "In my experience, the Dalish are the prejudiced ones. Stubborn, unwilling to change."

"I will not argue that, for it is true enough." Lavellan shrugged, then explained. "Dalish are not fond of outsiders – however they have reason to be. Too often they have paid the price for trust easily given. Their trust must be earned – and if that is the extent of your experience with the Dalish, then you obviously never took the time to earn it."

The male elf crossed his arms as he mulled over her words.

"Anyway, I'm gonna hit the sack." Lavellan yawned, brushing past Solas and entering the tent next to Cassandra's.

As the tent's flap fell closed behind her, she dropped her pack on the floor and unbuckled her belt, which had her dagger sheathes attached to it. She laid her blades next to the sleeping mat within reaching distance, and taking a smaller dagger from her boot, she slid that one under the pillow.

It was such a hassle to take one's armor off. There were all kinds of buckles and chains and ties, metal and leather and chainmail, the list went on. But for Lavellan, the chore was familiar and thoughtless, zoning out as she pulled off the many layers. Her mind was blank as she pulled out a several different jars of polish from her pack. She began to rub a waxy substance into the leather parts of her armor in slow, circular strokes. When that was done, she repeated the gesture with a different polish, this time shining the metal pieces of her armor.

When this was done, she carefully set her armor aside in a corner of the tent, leaning it upright so as not to crease the leather. She unsheathed every one of her blades, checking their edges for nicks or dulling. After they were all deemed acceptable, she replaced them and finally began to bed down for the night.

Lavellan pulled a piece of bread and a block of cheese from her pack, her meal for the night. Falling onto her mat, she let out a surprised groan as the pain in her thighs made itself known.

 _Ow! My crotch!_ She let out a hiss as she extended her legs in front of her. _Goddamn saddles…_

She bit into her bread roughly as she leaned forward, attempting to relieve the ache in her muscles by stretching them, and hoping that she would not be too stiff in the morning.

Finishing off her food with a drink from her canteen, Lavellan was surprised to find herself in darkness. Night had fallen without her notice, it would seem. Suddenly, her exhaustion seemed to press down on her, weighing heavy on her shoulders.

 _Time for bed…_ She sighed inwardly as she laid down on the mat.

Lavellan curled up on her side, grunting as her leather jerkin dug into her ribs (she never took _all_ of her armor off at night). Still, she was not unused to it, and so she was soon able to relax and deepen her breathing. Sleeping in a tent under the stars, the sound of the forest surrounding her, was far more soothing than an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar town.

That night she had no nightmares, but the dreams were of better times, and the heartache they brought with them was just as bad.

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 **Please leave reviews! They inspire me to write more frequently ;)**


	9. Twinkle-fingers

**I don't own anything but my character.**

 **As I re-watch all the DAI scenes, I only get more frustrated with Solas. At the same time, I can't help but think of how fun it would be if the Inquisitor, with all the knowledge of the Fen'harel stuff, went back in time and fucked with him. Like cursing "Fen'harel's ballsack!" or "Wow Solas, you're quite the lone wolf huh?" Wouldn't that just be hilarious? *snickers evilly***

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At the first cry of birds in the morning, Lavellan was awake. Eyes flying open, she half expected Mirath, Deshanna's first, to come barreling into her tent with a bucket of icy water, ready to splash Lavellan awake with its contents. As usual, Mirath would fail to succeed in dowsing Lavellan with the morning bucket, as Lavellan was always able to dodge her and then trip her into the soaking wet blankets. Then Lavellan would complain to Mirath about having to dry her sheets for the (insert number here)-nth time.

But there was only silence.

Reality came crashing down on Lavellan like a rockslide, and she heaved a great sigh as she crawled out from under the blankets. Her leather jerkin creaked with the movement, familiar aches making themselves known in the morning. Stumbling over to the corner where her things lay, Lavellan began the slow process of putting on her armor, layer by layer, buckle by buckle.

Again, the familiar practice almost made her forget her current situation. She retrieved her daggers from under the blanket and pillow, replacing them onto her belt and the harness on her back. She dared not imagine what her hair looked like at the moment, as she pulled it over her shoulder and began to comb through it with her fingers. With quick and practiced movements, she pulled her hair back into a braid, entwining the strands down the back of her head and then allowing the rest to fall down her back.

Finally, she exited her tent, inhaling the morning mist that hung in the air and cast the world into a dull grey and muted all sound. There was dew on the ground and on the trees, enhancing the sharp scent of pine that seemed to energize her with each whiff. There were only two scouts on patrol at the moment, as it was still very early in the morning.

Somewhere, a horse stomped its hoof and whickered lowly. Lavellan grabbed her pack and checked over its contents, noting what needed to be replaced or replenished. She downed the last of the water in her canteen, swishing it around in her mouth before spitting it out on the grass in order to get rid of that awful morning taste.

 _It is so much like before, and yet so different._ The elleth thought to herself with uncharacteristic melancholy. She glanced at the tents around camp, noting that they all remained undisturbed. The grass in front of their flaps was un-crunched, the dew still present on the leaves.

 _I always told Deshanna that the Dalish wake at ungodly hours._ Lavellan thought amusedly as she ambled over to one of the supplies tables and began to fill her pack. The two scouts on watch nodded to her in acknowledgment, but did not speak. The stillness of the morning seemed impenetrable.

 _Thank the gods, they have health potions here!_ She fingered the fresh poultices, although she still had several from when she had left Haven the day before. However she did spy a fresh whetstone, and snatched that up quickly and stored it in her pack. One never knew when their blade would need sharpening.

With her pack filled to an acceptable degree, she left it by the supply table and took her canteen over to a small ravine which ran next to a makeshift paddock. Roughly cut tree limbs made up the fence, which was more for show than an actual barrier. If the horses spooked, they could easily knock over the fence.

The ravine itself was just run-off from the snow that melted and flowed down from the mountains, wearing trails into the rock over time and created a drain in the cliff face. One of these trails dripped off of a rock outcrop, creating a steady trickle that Lavellan held her open canteen under. Even after she had filled her canteen, she remained there for a moment, just listening to the sound of dripping water and the _shhp-shhp_ of horses ripping up blades of grass and nibbling on them.

Only when the sun peaked through the clouds did Lavellan decide to head back, topping her canteen and walking slowly back to the camp, pausing briefly to pat one of the horses.

When she returned, she noted that Cassandra and Solas were already up. Cassandra was standing by the supply table, speaking lowly to one of the scouts. Her pack was beside her, already replenished. Solas was sitting on a nearby rock outcrop, and looked as if he was meditating.

Lavellan approached the Seeker, the scout leaving just as she reached them.

"It is good to see that you are already up." Cassandra noted casually.

"The Dalish always did wake up at ungodly hours." Lavellan mused, repeating her earlier thoughts.

Cassandra nodded. "Not surprising. I see that you have also resupplied your things as well. Now we are just waiting for that lazy dwarf to wake up."

Right on cue, the flap to Varric's tent slipped open.

"No need to start pointing fingers so early in the morning." The dwarf griped, obviously not a morning person. He turned and ambled away from the camp, probably to relieve himself. Bianca was already strapped to his back, much to Lavellan's amusement.

 _I think that crossbow is actually one of his limbs._ A little voice inside her head quipped.

"We have much to do." The Seeker drew her attention. "The mage-templar war has consumed much of the valley. We will have to scour the entire region to enforce order."

The elleth nodded in agreement. "We should head to the Crossroads first, however. Not only is Mother Giselle there, but it is also the center of the relief efforts for the refugees. If we can secure that area, then people will have a place to turn to as they flee the conflict."

"That was my thinking as well." Cassandra told her, sounding mildly impressed.

Lavellan glanced at the sky, noting the position of the sun. It was still cresting the mountain peaks, meaning that they still had a long day ahead of them. She bent down to pick up her pack, just a small and lightweight pouch that she kept strapped to her belt on her lower back. Anything more would hinder her movements in fighting.

"Let's get moving."

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They encountered a few mages and templars on their way to the Crossroads, but it was only when they reached the town did they realize the magnitude of the situation. Templars and mages were dueling in the road without any care towards the poor townspeople who were dodging blades and magic left and right. A few of the local men had picked up their swords and were attempting to push both sides out of town, however they were rather ineffective.

"Look there!" Cassandra pointed, and they noticed a few more professionally armored men descending into the fray. "Those are our soldiers."

Lavellan recognized the now-familiar eyeball crest upon their breastplates, and that awful orange tailoring that seemed to be popular with Inquisition soldiers for some reason.

"Well, what are we standing around here for, then?" The elleth asked rhetorically as she drew her blades.

They ran forward into the battle, Cassandra engaging an armored templar while Varric began shooting at mages, Solas casting barriers on his allies while Lavellan crept up behind a templar and sunk her dagger into the opening between his helmet and neck. The fighting was indeed chaos, the templars fighting the mages, and the Inquisition forces fighting both the mages and templars. With the Inquisition soldiers added to the equation, the templars and mages seemed torn in who to attack first, giving the Inquisition the advantage.

"Look out!" Varric warned, and Lavellan immediately dodged, hearing the crackle of ice behind her. Turning, she saw the templar behind her was frozen solid.

Without thinking, she slammed her blades into his back, shattering him. She did not bother to glance at the icy pieces of flesh and intestines that he left behind, as the mage that had sent the ice spell was attacking her now. Lavellan danced and dodged, feeling her skin prickle as the chill from the spells soared past her. Despite the fact that she had not taken any damage yet, she could not get close enough to the mage to stop them, as the barrage of spells sailing towards her kept her at bay.

"A little help here!" She gasped between pants, her stamina running out, and she had little time to pause and take a potion.

Suddenly lightning cracked through the air, darting over her head and slamming into the enemy mage, making his muscles seize up uncontrollably. Lavellan darted forward at the opening, daggers flashing as she sliced the mage's neck. Spinning around, she looked behind her and saw Solas give her a reassuring look.

A templar rogue was creeping up behind him, and without thinking, Lavellan drew one of her smaller blades and let it fly. It nearly nicked Solas' ear as it shot over the wizard's shoulder and drilled into the templar's forehead. Solas whirled around in that same moment, following the trajectory of the blade and finally noticing the man behind him – who was now very much dead.

His head swiveled around to glance at Lavellan, who sent him a wink before she darted back into the battle. Cassandra was struggling against two templar warriors, and Varric had teamed up with one of the Inquisition's archers to rain arrows down on a group of spellcasters. Lavellan ran forward and jumped into a flip, landing right behind one of the men attacking Cassandra and slitting the back of his knees. Those tendons severed, the man fell forward helplessly, and Lavellan was on him in a second, grabbing the back of his head and yanking it up to expose his neck, slitting his throat.

A shadow fell across her, and she dodged before a sword could slice her head off. Rolling forward, she leapt back up in time to see Cassandra intercept the templar behind her and bash him with her shield. The man went flying, and Lavellan darted after him faster than he could recover, tripping him while he was disoriented and making him fall forward, and in the same movement she drove her blade into the small gap between the chest plates and up into his heart. She felt his arms flail against her, before he fell limp.

Yanking her dagger out, she quickly wiped off the blood on the templar's skirt, before returning them to their sheaths. Turning around, her eyes counted each of her companions.

"Everyone still alive?" She called.

Cassandra's eyes lingered on the dead templar, before she looked up and met her gaze. "Indeed. You fight well, Lavellan."

The elleth nodded in thanks.

"I'm still breathing." Varric muttered as she approached them, Solas following silently behind him.

Lavellan glanced around them, noting that the villagers had begun emerging from their hiding places while the Inquisition soldiers began gathering the wounded and taking them up to a house that sat on a ledge overlooking the main road. There were several cots set up on the ledge, with people attending the injured.

 _I bet Mother Giselle is somewhere up there._

Lavellan glanced back at her companions and then jerked her chin in the direction of the hospice. They followed her as she ascended the stairs, immediately noticing a woman in bright red Chantry robes kneeling next to an injured Inquisition scout.

"There are mages here who can heal your wounds." She told him in a gentle voice. "Lie still."

"Don't let them touch me, Mother!" The man panicked. "Their magic –"

A healer mage standing behind the woman crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, obviously having dealt with such difficult patients before.

The cleric shook her head. "Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade."

"But –"

"Hush, dear boy." The Mother scolded him. "Let him ease your suffering."

The young man reluctantly nodded and lay back on the cot, and the mage approached with glowing hands. Meanwhile, the cleric turned around, her gaze falling on Lavellan and her companions.

"Mother Giselle, I presume?" The elleth greeted her.

"I am." The kind lady smiled at her. "And you must be the one they are calling 'The Herald of Andraste'."

 _Oh, well this is awkward._ Lavellan shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the ridiculous title. She glanced at the mage standing behind the woman as he tended to the injured, and then noted how at ease this Chantry woman was despite his presence.

Lavellan cocked her head. "You are not against magic?" She inquired, genuinely curious.

"Magic is not evil." Mother Giselle spoke in a lecturing voice. "We teach that pride is evil, and it does not corrupt only mages."

 _'_ _We' meaning the Chantry? I think you need to revisit what some of your peers say about magic, lady._ Lavellan thought with an inward chuckle.

Mother Giselle motioned with her hand for Lavellan to follow her. The two women walked away from the hospice, speaking in hushed tones.

"I know of the Chantry's denouncement." Mother Giselle told her. "I won't lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming Divine. But others are simply terrified – so many Chantry members died at the Conclave, many of them leaders among the clerics."

"The Chantry is without guidance." Lavellan nodded, clasping her hands behind her back. "I understand that."

The cleric sighed. "Fear makes us desperate. But hopefully not beyond reason."

 _Then you hope too much, messere._

"Go to Val Royeaux." Mother Giselle urged the elleth. "Convince them that you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you – give them something else to believe."

Lavellan snorted derisively in response. "You want me to appeal to them? I'm an elf, a Dalish no less. They will hate me by default."

"If I thought you were incapable, I wouldn't suggest it." Mother Giselle reassured her. "You do not need to convince all of them. You just need some of them to _doubt_. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them."

 _Divide and conquer? Not such a nice little priestess after all, are you?_ The elleth thought amusedly. _Your gentle tone belies your cunning. Smart woman. I can respect that._

"You are not wrong in that." Lavellan murmured, staring into the distance. "That is… that is a wise solution. Although I am surprised that you would help to undermine the authority of the Chantry."

The Chantry woman shrugged. "I don't know if you've been touched by Fate or sent to help us, but I _hope_." Mother Giselle told the elf. "The people listen to your rallying call. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us… or destroy us."

Chills ran down Lavellan's spine, and she frowned at the foreboding feeling.

"I will go to Haven once I am done here, and provide Leliana with the names of the more approachable clerics." The cleric continued as she began to walk away. "I will do whatever I can to help."

Lavellan was left standing on a ledge overlooking the main road of the village, the people meandering below her to aid the relief efforts. Glancing around for her companions, she noted that Solas had joined the healers by the hospice, Cassandra was speaking to a few of the Inquisition soldiers, and Varric was leaning against one of the houses, not-so-subtly listening in on her conversation with Mother Giselle.

The elleth approached him. "What did you think?" She asked the dwarf.

Varric shrugged as he pushed off the wall and dug his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I don't think she has any ulterior motives."

Lavellan shook her head. "No, neither do I."

"She believes that what she is doing is right." Varric continued as he and the elleth began to walk towards the Inquisition soldiers. "Let's just hope that we do not disappoint her."

"Please control your optimism." Lavellan drawled in a dry voice. They reached the Inquisition soldiers just in time to hear Cassandra order them to begin aiding in rebuilding the village.

The Seeker turned to face them. "We have much to do." She told them. "The town is desperately low on supplies. I have spoken with several of the men – they need food, blankets, medicine."

Lavellan heaved another sigh. _Great, more things for my to-do list. I didn't realize saving the world meant I would be assigned chores non-stop._

"They have also warned us to watch our backs on the King's Road." Cassandra pointed north beyond the ridge. "That is where the in-fighting is worst. Mages and templars have both made camp somewhere within the vicinity of that area. If we take those out, we can at least secure some measure of peace in the region."

"Then we'll start by wiping out both camps." Lavellan decided. The elf glanced at the sky and noted the position of the sun; it was near noon. "But first, let's grab some lunch."

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They rest of the day was spent in a blur. After filling their stomachs, Lavellan and her companions headed out for the King's Road. A person couldn't even take five steps without running into mage-templar conflict. It seemed like every time they defeated one group, another would arrive. Eventually, after looting several of the bodies (much to Cassandra's disapproval) Lavellan found a note that revealed the location of the mage camp.

The rebel mages had begun calling the area 'Witch-Wood', to which Lavellan and Varric were highly amused. At least the mages got points for creativity. Although as they approached the area, Lavellan wondered how the templars could miss the obvious signs of magic – frozen ponds, despite it being a hot day, random icicles hanging from tree limbs, glowing wisps of magic bobbing in the shadows. It all just _screamed_ 'secret mage headquarters this way!'. Really, did these mages not know anything about subtly?

After taking out several of the magicians on watch, Lavellan approached the entrance to the super-secret lair of the mages. Except when she went to step into the cave, something slammed into her.

 _Whump!_

Lavellan fell backwards onto her butt, her head snapping up to stare in bewilderment at the empty tunnel. "What the…?"

"Tis a barrier." Solas murmured behind her.

Lavellan heard the sound of a dwarf snickering behind her, and turned to shoot Varric a dirty look. She got back on her feet and hesitantly pushed her hands forward, her fingers coming into contact with an invisible and hard surface. With her fingers touching the barrier, Lavellan could see the barely-perceptible film of magic that stretched across the entire surface of the cave's entrance. Ripples of light pulsed from where her fingers pressed against the barrier.

"If you would allow me…" Solas stepped forward, leveling his staff at the invisible wall. The elleth quickly darted out of his way, just as the apostate sent forth a ball of magic. It collided with the barrier, the magic erupting with sparks before the barrier seemed to burst apart.

Solas seemed immensely pleased with himself. "After you." He motioned her forward. _Ass._

Lavellan walked forward with wary eyes, wondering if anyone had hear the barrier explode. She unsheathed her daggers and stepped into the cave, sneaking forward to scout how many mages were in the camp.

There were less than expected, only ten mages lingered within the large cave, a few of them asleep. Lavellan slipped into one of the tents and slit the throats of two of the mages that were slumbering within. She poked her head out of the tent flap and noticed that her companions were waiting quietly in the shadows of the cave entrance, still unnoticed by the mages. She caught Varric's eyes and motioned for him to take aim at one of the mages, while she snuck up behind another one.

Lavellan leapt out of the shadows and brought her daggers down on the mage, just as Varric fired his bolt into the next one.

The cave erupted into chaos as the rebel mages snatched up their weapons and began fighting back. Cassandra's training meant that she easily deflected their magical bolts of lightning and fire with her shield, Lavellan dodging flying icicles, while Solas cast protective wards over his companions.

"Die!" A mage yelled from the back of the cave, and Lavellan turned just in time to see him summon up a wall of flame.

 _Holy shit!_ She let out a gasp as she scrambled away from the growing flames, which were crawling closer and closer to her position.

"Hey twinkle-fingers!" She yelled over her shoulder at Solas. "Over here!"

The apostate turned his attention towards the flames. His hands began to glow blue, frost flaky off of his skin as he swept his arms in an arc, a blast of cold air and bright magic shooting forward. A wall of ice rose up to counteract the flames, the heat melting the ice into water which then soaked the ground and put out the fire.

As the flames died out, the rebel mage behind the attack attempted to run, but a well-placed bolt flew past Lavellan and sank into his neck. Blood spurted forth as the mage collapsed onto the ground. The elf turned around to face her dwarven companion, Varric smirking at his work.

"Search the place." Lavellan commanded her companions.

Cassandra was already checking each of the bodies for clues about mage movements, or magical and cursed objects. Such things were dangerous if left in the open. Varric, ever the rogue, immediately began to sack the personal contents that the mages had left behind, unlocking chests and rummaging through pockets. Lavellan glanced up at the approach of her fellow elf. When Solas locked eyes with her, he raised an eyebrow at her imperiously.

"Twinkle-fingers?" He asked dryly.

Lavellan snickered. "Appropriate, no?"

"My name is Solas." The elf told her in a rather unamused voice. "I would prefer it if you would address me as such."

"Tough luck then." Lavellan shrugged, walking away to loot through the cave. "Thanks for the save, by the way!"

Solas grumbled unhappily behind her. Honestly, he was so easy to rile up. She simply could not help herself.

After clearing out the mage camp, Lavellan and her companions headed back to the Crossroads, restocking on healing potions before they set out to hunt down the templar camp. They found it with relative ease, as it was not nearly as inconspicuous as the mage camp had been. Personally, it was easier for Lavellan to fight against Templars than mages. As a rogue, she specialized in slipping around bulky armor and slipping her blades between the cracks in the metal plating. Mages were harder to fight, with all their unpredictable spells and wards.

The templar camp was easily taken out, with only a few broken ribs for Lavellan and a black eye for Cassandra. Varric and Solas, the lucky bastards, were long-range fighters, and did not have to worry about such injuries.

With both the templars and the mages dealt with, the Kings Road was relatively safe now. Crossing the broken bridge across the ravine next to the templar camp, Lavellan and her companions found themselves on Master Dennet's farms. There was a large and empty field nearby that was a perfect place to set up camp, according to Cassandra.

However before they could set up camp, they needed to speak to the horse master. They found Master Dennet and his wife up at the main house. His wife greeted them first, tending to the garden beside their house. After being invited inside the house, Lavellan and Cassandra met with Dennet.

He agreed to aid the Inquisition, however he had a few terms that had to be met first. Obviously, moving a large herd of fine horses was a dangerous task. Each horse was worth their weight in gold, and if even one was lost, it would costa fortune. Any stray mage, templar, or bandit would kill to acquire a horse of such breeding. If the Inquisition was going to buy Master Dennet's horses, they needed a secure passage for the horses to be transferred from the Hinterlands to the Frostbacks. That meant not only clearing the mage-templar conflict as much as possible, but also taking care of any bandits along the path of travel, as well as supplying a troop of soldiers large enough to protect the herd. In the meantime, however, Master Dennet provided a horse for Lavellan to use, free of charge – a sign of goodwill, and a promise of business.

Thanking the horse master for his time, Lavellan and Cassandra bid him farewell. During their conversation with Master Dennet, Solas and Varric had been outside, watching for any mage or templars that might try to attack the farm.

"What did he say?" Varric asked them when they exited the main house.

Lavellan sighed. "We still have a lot of work to do."

"We must secure the Hinterlands entirely before it will be safe enough to have the horses transported back to our headquarters." Cassandra informed the dwarf and apostate. "But at least we gained an ally on this day."

 _I don't know how much help Mother Giselle will be_. Lavellan frowned. _I'm not even sure of how much sway she holds within the Chantry._

Glancing at the sky, she noticed that the sun was setting.

"We better return to camp." Lavellan told her companions. "We still have much to do before we can return to Haven. Hopefully with horses for a cavalry."

They turned away from the farmhouse and began to walk away from Dennet's farm. They trekked another hour back to their first camp, on the hill above Redcliffe village. When they returned, Cassandra met with Scout Harding to mark the spots on their maps where they had found good camping spots. In the morning, while Lavellan and her companions were securing the Hinterlands, Harding and her people would head out to the designated areas and establish proper camps there.

This time, Lavellan was the first one to turn in for the night. She crawled into her tent, just wanting to avoid all the people around her. The whole 'Herald' shit was still strange to her, and she had noticed several of the Inquisition's scouts eyeing her with awe – and that made her extremely uncomfortable.

Lying on her back, staring up at the top of her tent, Lavellan gave a low groan and rubbed her forehead.

 _Why am I even here?_ She thought, turning on her side and staring at the unfamiliar armor, the unfamiliar daggers, and the unfamiliar tent. She couldn't help but feel like Fate had made a terrible mistake.

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	10. Well aren't you popular?

They spent the entirety of the next week clearing out the Hinterlands. The sheer size of the region was mind-boggling to Lavellan, whose woodland experience was mostly limited to the coastal forests along the Waking Sea – and obviously the Hinterlands were nothing like the coast. Everything was so lush, even the air was heavy with moisture and the scent of flora. Clan Lavellan was from the northern Dales, a region of Orlais that often forgot that it was actually part of the empire. The forests there were not as lush as the Hinterlands, the air crisp and tasting faintly of salt from the ocean.

It took Lavellan and her companions days to clear out the smaller enemy camps that were dotted throughout the Hinterlands. In between dodging swords and fireballs, they discovered several ancient and mysterious artifacts (such as random glowing skulls and moaning shards), hidden supply caches once belonging to the rogue mages, hunted for meat for the villagers, and even returned someone's lost druffalo.

 _"_ _Am I everyone's fucking nanny?"_ Lavellan had grumped aloud to the others just before they had decided to pack up and head back to Haven. Varric, the little chit, had the gall to smirk cheekily and answer with a solemn and affirmative 'yes'.

She had thrown her shoe at him.

After establishing a solid foundation within the Hinterlands and the Crossroads, the Inquisition's presence was growing steadily in the region, with new recruits coming from all corners of the valley to join their forces. As such, Corporal Vale was able to spare a few men, and so the little Inquisition party headed back to the Frostbacks, this time accompanied by more soldiers and with better equipment than when they had arrived.

They secured the most direct trail between the Hinter valley and the Frostbacks, marking spots for outposts and watchtowers so that Cullen could establish some men along the route to fortify the path for when Master Dennet sent his horses to the Inquisition.

To Lavellan's surprise, the journey back to Haven was not as tense as it had been the first time. Perhaps the shared comradery of battle had loosened her companions up a bit. Cassandra and Varric managed to have two civil conversations, interspersed with biting comments every ten minutes or so. Solas remained quiet but she could tell that his shoulders were not as stiff as they had been when they first traveled together.

Even Lavellan found herself comfortably turning her back to her companions, instead of keeping track of their movements in paranoia, waiting for a blade to the back. The elleth felt herself stiffen at the thought.

Oh dear. Was she – was she actually learning to _trust_ these people? Lavellan grimaced. She could imagine Keeper Deshanna's smug smirk already.

The horse beneath her slowed as it noticed its rider's change in mood. Glancing down at the pale grey horse, Lavellan squeezed her thighs and clucked softly, urging her steed back up to speed with the rest of the party. Beside her, the other three Inquisition companions were astride their own horses, yet another generous donation from Master Dennet after they had successfully cleared his lands of all rifts, demons, and possessed wolves.

Much to the elf's amusement, each companions seemed to match their steed perfectly. Cassandra was astride a broad, muscular bay, which often tossed its head and tugged at the reins in a headstrong manner reminiscent of its rider. Solas road a quiet mare, a gentle chestnut that like to smell the flowers whenever the party stopped to rest. And Varric, _oh Varric_ , was riding a lazy pony that often ignored his rider's commands and had a penchant for sticking her nose in the nearest food bag.

Around them, a small platoon of soldiers walked briskly, six men of different ages and various backgrounds. The younger boys liked to gather around the fire when they made camp and listen to Varric tell his stories, while the two older soldiers tended to stick amongst themselves or speak with Cassandra. They all avoided Solas – as many common people still feared mages – and of course, Solas made to effort to speak to any of them.

For the millionth time, Lavellan wondered what the fuck she was doing. She could have easily slipped away, run away and let _real_ heroes handle this shit. Why was she here, helping these shems? Why endanger her own well-being for these – these – _humans_?

Perhaps the better question was, why had she _not_ run away?

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

"Home sweet Haven." Varric drawled as the citadel of the Haven chantry came into view.

 _Thank the gods._ Lavellan thought as she was wracked by another shiver and drew her cloak closer around herself. A fresh flurry of snow was just beginning to fall from the sky, and she was already dreaming of curling up in her bed with a hot cup of tea and a good book.

Approaching the gates, Lavellan was pleased to notice that the old stable outside of Haven had been fixed up while they had been away, and was ready to receive their new horses. A few young lads were already rushing towards them, while the soldiers that had accompanied them from the Hinterlands were already walking towards the training grounds to report to an officer.

"Lemme 'elp ya out, mi'lady." One of the boys said as he came to stand next to her horse, a tall and lanky lad that might have only been fifteen summers.

Lavellan felt her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline before she remembered the whole ' _blessed Herald of Andraste'_ shit. Damn, she still couldn't get over the fact that people treated her like nobility now.

"Er, right." She cleared her throat. "My thanks."

The young man held out his hand for her to take, and then helped her dismount from the horse. Lavellan glanced over at her companions as her feet touched the ground, feeling displeased by the fact that she was the only one getting special treatment. Cassandra and Solas had jumped down from their mounts independently, while Varric flailed miserably and nearly face-planted, although one of the stable boys managed to push him back onto the horse and then help him down properly.

Lavellan smirked when she caught Varric's eye. The dwarf stuck his tongue out at her in response.

"I'll be sure ta take ya things to yer cabin, mi'lady." The boy next to her spoke as he straightened the tack and began to lead the horse towards the stables.

"Oh, er, no that quite alright!" Lavellan protested, but the boy and the horse were already too far to hear her. The elleth sighed.

Chuckling behind her alerted her to the arrival of her dwarven companion. Lavellan turned to glance over at Varric and put on an annoyed expression.

"I am not an invalid." She grumped.

"Let 'em spoil you, kid." Varric patted her arm and turned her in the direction of Haven's gate. "Not everyone gets preferential treatment, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah." Lavellan muttered as she and the dwarf trudged up to the gate. Solas and Cassandra had apparently gone their separate ways already. As they entered the town Varric bid her goodbye as he turned towards the tavern.

And so Lavellan walked into the Chantry by herself, noticing Mother Giselle off to the side speaking lowly with two of the clerics. The elf made a mental note to speak to the woman later, after she was finished in the war room.

As expected, when Lavellan walked through the double doors of the command center, all three of the advisors were there, Leliana and Josephine bantering softly while Cullen and Cassandra spoke together while pointing at the map every so often. She suspected Leliana had a system set up where one of her 'people' would alert the advisors to her arrival every time Lavellan came back to Haven from some mission or another.

"Hello, _cara_." Josephine greeted the elleth with her usual geniality. "We were just speaking about you."

"Were you?" Lavellan asked amusedly.

Leliana nodded. "Indeed. It would seem that the Chantry has finally decided to make a move."

Lavellan raised her brows, but otherwise waited for the redhead to elaborate.

"The Chantry has declared the Inquisition heretical." Leliana stated without preamble. The elf winced, knowing the complications that entailed. "They are gathering in Val Royeaux to decide what they should do about us. The best thing for us to do at this point is to send a representative to either speak on our behalf or to scout for potential allies while noting any enemies of worth. If the Chantry decides to move against us, then all that we hope to build will be for naught."

Lavellan could already tell this was going to be a headache.

"Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea." Josephine suggested.

The elf in question snorted. "That is a _horrible_ idea." Lavellan crossed her arms. "I don't do politics."

"It is as Mother Giselle said." Josephine reasoned with her. "At the moment, the Chantry's only strength is that they are united in opinion."

"And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?" Leliana questioned.

Lavellan sighed and shifted her weight onto one leg, carefully hiding her irritation. _The Herald._ She was really starting to detest the title. Why did people insist on calling her such nonsense?

"Let's ask her, then."

Lavellan glanced up as the conversation shifted back to her and shrugged. "I don't think that the Chantry will take any other representative of the Inquisition seriously. Besides, at least Chantry politics is less likely to involve literal backstabbing as court politics."

"Don't underestimate the power of their words." Leliana warned her. "An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade."

"Then I will go with her."

Lavellan glanced over to see Cassandra push off the wall that she had been leaning against as she watched the advisors bicker.

"I am the Right Hand of the previous Divine, and that will count for something." Cassandra stated. "And we cannot approach anyone for help against the Breach while the Chantry stands in our way. If we can at least end the stalemate, create disunity, then maybe _someone_ will be willing to help us."

"Or at the very least, they cannot prevent anyone from lending us aid." Lavellan added on.

"Indeed." The Seeker agreed, turning to Josephine. "Use what influence we have to gather the clerics. Once they are ready, we will see this through."

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

Val Royeaux was just as fancy and luxurious and over-the-top as one would imagine. The walls were washed to a pristine white, the columns of the balconies carved to reflect the same patterns found in lace, the sculptures which lined the entryway were like looming marble giants, carved with such perfection that any naturalism was negated. Even the ground beneath her feet was flawless shell-colored tile, not a chip or footprint to be seen, inlaid with ornate geometric mosaics at intervals. Between the sculptures were faux floral arrangements – obviously fake due to their too-perky flowers and the distinct lack of any floral scents in the air (save for the heady cloud of perfume that seemed to accompany every Orlesian that walked by). The gates were flanked by twin winged and rearing lions, painted with gold leaf and nearly blinding in the sunlight.

The Orlesians were also just as fancy and luxurious and over-the-top, as if to reflect the ostentatiousness of their city. Women wore dresses with far too many layers and ruffles and lace and embroidery. The men were just as bad, if not worse! At least the women knew how to balance fabrics and texture. One man wore a plaid green topcoat over a ridiculously lacey yellow blouse, with what Lavellan supposed was a ruffled cummerbund, although it was hard to see past the atrocious disaster of his outfit.

She dared not look at his shoes.

And the masks! _What the fuck was with the masks?_ It was just creepy.

"Oh Nightingale and Ruffles would have a field day with him." She heard Varric snicker under his breath as Ser Fashion-Disaster walked by them. The elleth could not help but to agree. The woman walking behind the first man gasped. Lavellan saw the woman's eyes widen behind her ridiculous mask, and in a flurry of skirts, the woman was scurrying in the opposite direction.

"Just a guess, Seeker," Varric turned to Cassandra. "But I think they know who we are."

"Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric." The woman in question replied in her usual dry tone.

Their usual banter was interrupted as a young woman jogged up to them, a hood thrown casually over her head, a small pin on her shoulder identifying her as one of Leliana's spies.

"My Lady Herald," The woman began as she knelt before Lavellan, "The Chantry mothers await you… but so do a great many Templars.

"The Templars are here?!" Cassandra interrupted with a hint of worry. Uh oh. That was never good.

The spy nodded. "The people seem to think that they will protect them from the Inquisition." The woman stood up. "They're gathering on the other side of the market. I think that's where the Templars intend to meet you."

"Great…" Lavellan drawled, wondering if Lady Luck would be on her side if she happened to face down twenty or so Templars. Probably not.

"Return to Haven." Cassandra ordered the woman. "They will need to be informed if we are… delayed."

 _'_ _Delayed' as in captured, tortured, and/ or killed. Delightful._ The elleth thought.

As Leliana's spy jogged in the direction that they had come from, the companions of the Inquisition faced forward and straightened their shoulders. After one more reassuring look from the Seeker, Lavellan strode forward with as much confidence as she could muster, following the sound of raised voices and excited murmuring until she caught a glimpse of a large crowd.

Just above the heads of the crowd she could make out the recognizable headpieces of the Chantry priestesses, who were probably standing upon a raised platform of some sort. Before making their presence known, Lavellan scanned the area around them, noting the city guards (there were four) posted on the perimeters of the marketplace. Oddly enough, she did not see any sign of the Templars.

After Cassandra nudged her on last time, the elleth relented and led their group towards the platform.

"Good people of Val Royeaux! Hear me!" The voice of one of the clerics called above the din. "Together we mourn our Divine, her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery!"

Lavellan supposed that the woman's pointed glare was meant for her then. How peachy.

"You wonder what will become of her murderer – Well, wonder no more!" The priestess continued, and then pointed directly at the representatives of the Inquisition. "Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell!"

 _Such pretty words. Your tongue would serve me better if it were separated from your mouth._ Lavellan thought in annoyance. The postulating of these chantry members was tiresome. Didn't this woman need to pray or repent or something? Instead of standing up here like a goddamn politician?

"What say this false prophet?" The robed woman then sneered. "The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need!"

There was a beat of silence, and Lavellan realized the people were waiting on her to answer them. She nearly groaned aloud at that.

Leaning over, she whispered to Cassandra, "Can I tell her that even if the Maker asked an elf to be their savior, no elf would ever volunteer to save her sorry arse?"

The Seeker's mouth twitched in amusement before she forced a scowl on her face and turned to scold Lavellan.

"Take this seriously!" Cassandra hissed.

"How can I take this seriously if I can't even take her seriously?" Lavellan grumbled.

"Here, here." Varric muttered behind them.

The Seeker turned around and gave him a dirty look.

"Well?" The sister up on the stage demanded of the 'Herald'. There was a smug look on her face, as if she thought that they were ready to give up.

 _Bitch._

"Enough of your politics." Lavellan said sternly, raising her voice so that all could here. "The Inquisition came here to talk! There are more pressing matters to attend to."

Cassandra nodded in agreement. "We have come to end this madness before it is too late."

The priestess looked over her shoulder, and the smug expression returned ten-fold. Lavellan wanted to smack her for it. Instead, the elleth turned to follow the woman's gaze, and felt her spine crawl at the sight of tall men in silver armor marching into the city plaza. Her fingers twitched as she relaxed her arms and let them fall to her sides, fingertips grazing the hilt of one of her daggers while her eyes flicked over the area for an exit.

"It is already too late!" The Chantry cleric taunted them.

Behind her, Lavellan heard her companions shift, preparing for a fight.

"The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this 'Inquisition' and the people will be safe once more – _Oomph!_ "

Lavellan couldn't help but let out a snort as one of the Templars knocked the self-righteous woman on her ass. Cassandra smacked the elf upside the head.

 _Oops. Right, bad timing._ Lavellan studied the Templars carefully, realizing with growing dread that their body language was aggressive and uncontrolled. _They're not here for the Chantry…_

One of the younger Templars – just a boy really – moved to help the cleric, but he was stopped by an older Templar.

"Still yourself." The strange man said with an authoritative voice. "She is beneath us."

He turned to regard the Inquisition party with what could only be described as distant curiosity.

Lavellan glanced at the fallen sister, and then back to the cranky Templar. "I was just about to do that myself, actually."

She heard Cassandra mutter a curse behind her and tried not to smirk.

"As if I would do anything for _your_ pleasure." The Templar sneered at the elleth.

Lavellan jerked her head back and wrinkled her nose. "Ewww…" She grimaced like a child. "No offense, but you're not really my type."

Now both Cassandra and Cranky Templar were giving her aggravated looks. She heard Varric stifle a snort behind her, and what she thought was a soft chuckle from Solas (but she couldn't be sure). Cranky Templar huffed and began to stalk off the stage. Cassandra jerked into motion, much to the surprise of her companions, as the Seeker hurried to catch up with Cranky Templar.

"Lord Seeker Lucius!"

 _What? She knows him?_ Lavellan wondered.

"It is imperative that we speak with–"

Cranky Templar rudely interrupted. "You will not address me."

 _Dayum. Shut down!_

"Lord Seeker?" Cassandra seemed to wilt as the confidence drained out of her, replaced with a lost sort of look akin to a kicked puppy. Huh, that was an odd connotation with the usually obstinate woman. The man finally paused to give Cassandra the most scathing look Lavellan had seen in quite some time.

"Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste's prophet –"

"You know, I never actually claimed such a thing." Lavellan interjected, rolling her eyes.

"You should be ashamed." Lucius finished, glaring at the Seeker.

 _No one ever listens to me. Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?_ The elleth huffed inwardly. Was it the sarcasm? It was probably the sarcasm.

"You should all be ashamed!" Cranky Templar Lord-whatever raised his voice to address the crowd, which seemed to have doubled since the beginning of the whole debacle. "The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! _You_ are the ones that failed! You who –"

 _Blah, blah, blah. Always with the monologues._ Lavellan sighed.

"The only destiny that demands respect is _mine_!"

 _Selfish little prat, aren't we?_ The elleth mused, imagining Cranky Templar as a bratty four-year-old hoarding all the toys.

Hm, but the Inquisition would surely be facing plenty of rogue mages in the future, with the Templar-mage war and all. Plus, the people trusted the Templars (whatever that was worth), and the Inquisition needed to gain the people's trust… But on the other hand, did she really want to extend an invitation to this asshole? By the gods, what if he accepted?! She'd have to – _gasp_ – cooperate with him! Ew.

But… they really needed the Templars.

 _The things I do for the goddamn greater good…_ Lavellan grouched inwardly as she sucked up her pride and spat it out.

"Our commander was a Templar. He speaks very highly of the Order." _Don't gag, smile, just fucking smile!_ "Please consider joining the Inquisition. We will need your talents to put an end to the mage rebellion and restore order."

 _There. I said it. God that tasted awful._

"Join you?" Cranky Templar sneered again (she really hope his face would get stuck like that). "You have nothing. No influence, no power, and certainly no holy purpose."

"Well geez, thanks for the vote of confidence." Lavellan muttered as she crossed her arms and pouted. She heard Solas heave a loud sigh behind. Well, at least _someone_ was appreciating her witty humor.

"B-But Lord Seeker!" The young Templar from earlier approached them with a doubtful expression. "What if she really _was_ sent by the Maker? What if –"

"Enough! You are called to a higher purpose! Blah, blah, blah…"

[enter another Templar monologue here]

"Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!"

With that, the Templars appeared the leave the Chantry for good, marching out of the city that was the very heart of the Chantry and taking every one of the holy soldiers with them. Immediately the market was in an uproar of panicked whispers and confused murmuring. The people had lost the mages, their Divine, and now the Templars. The Chantry was a mess and the Inquisition's rise to power was fast and unpredictable.

Plus, you know, the hole in the sky.

 _But at least that's over. I swear, if I had to listen to one more predictable monologue in that awful voice of his…_

Lavellan glanced at Varric, the two of them exchanging equally frustrated and bewildered glances, and then shaking their heads.

"Charming fellow, isn't he?" Varric muttered.

Cassandra seemed stunned into a state of disbelief. "Has Lord Seeker gone mad?!" She exclaimed.

"I take it that he was in charge of your fabled order, Seeker Cassandra?" Lavellan turned to her companion.

Cassandra nodded. "He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition or grandstanding. This is very bizarre."

The elleth snorted. "The man you are describing is the exact opposite of the man I just met. Are you sure he doesn't have an evil twin or something?"

"Now that would be a good plot twist." Varric murmured.

"At least the Templars are not our only option." Lavellan attempted to cajole the Seeker. "We have yet to speak to the mages."

Cassandra seemed to regain some of her fire, straightening and throwing back her shoulders, shaking her head with narrowed eyes. "Do not write them off so quickly. There must be those within the Order who see what he's become!"

"I'm sure there will be. And if they come to the Inquisition, they will be welcomed with open arms." Lavellan nodded. "But we need more than the support of individuals. We need an army – an army of those who can manipulate the arcane in order to seal the breach. And there is not exactly an abundance of these."

"It is better if we recruit the mages anyway." Solas finally spoke up, earning himself a dirty look from the Seeker. "Templar powers may only further de-stabilize the Breach, whereas we _know_ that magic will help to seal it."

Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but Lavellan quickly waved her hand at the Seeker to nip the argument in the bud. "Nothing is set in stone yet. We have yet to see if the mages are willing to ally with us. So no arguments."

The elleth glanced around the market, noticing that the people were dispersing, although a few lingered and stared at the four Inquisition members.

"We should report back to Haven." Lavellan murmured, feeling her skin crawl. She didn't like so many eyes on her back.

She noticed Varric hold up his hand. "Whoa there, girlie. I didn't even get to look around."

"I didn't take you for the shopping type, Varric." Lavellan raised a brow at him.

The dwarf shrugged. "I'm not. But I hear you can get some high quality oil in this city, and Bianca's due for a rub-down." The way he caressed the handle of his crossbow was so sensual that it made her slightly uncomfortable.

The elf dipped her head. "Lead on then."

They followed Varric into a nearby weapon's shop. When the shop did not have the oil that Varric was looking for, they stopped at another stand. And another. And another.

Lavellan rolled her eyes as Varric huffed and puffed at each merchant. The back of her neck tickled suddenly, and she narrowed her eyes and carefully adjusted her stance, casually turning her head to look around her.

 _Fwoop!_

She ducked as an arrow flew over her head, hands flying to her blades.

"What's that?!" Cassandra gasped, resting her hand on her sword but not yet drawing it from its sheath. "An arrow?!

Lavellan did not rise from her crouch for a second, her eyes continuing to scan the parapets, grasping the hilts of her daggers. Deeming them safe for the moment, she finally stood up, glancing at the arrow in question and noticing the little piece of parchment wrapped around its shaft and tied with a string.

 _A message?_ She wondered, carefully approaching the arrow. After glancing around one last time, she bent down to retrieve it, pushing down the feeling of dread pooling into her stomach. _This better not be some stupid death threat._

She dropped the arrow and rolled open the piece of paper.

 _'_ _People say you're special. I want to help, and I can bring Everyone._

 _There's a Baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the Red things in the market, the docks, and 'round the café, and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring swords._

 _Friends of Red Jenny'_

It was then accompanied by what looked like an attempt to draw a map of the plaza, marked with the places where she was supposed to go. In actuality, the drawing looked more like a severely diseased bunny.

"Huh." Lavellan murmured.

"What is it?" Varric asked, unsuccessfully attempting to stand on his toes to read the note himself.

Glancing up, she saw the badly concealed curiosity in Cassandra and Solas' eyes as well.

"Anyone ever hear of the Friends of Red Jenny?" She asked aloud as she handed the note to Varric for him to read.

"Yeah." Varric answered as he handed the note off to Cassandra next. "They're a little like vigilantes. Not the sword and shield type, though. Their main offense is usually prank stuff. Mess with the nobles and other important people."

"So petty rogues, then." Cassandra scoffed as she passed the note to Solas.

"Oi." Lavellan protested. "I take offense to that."

The Seeker gave her a flat stare that told her that she really did not care. Lavellan smirked back.

"Can't hurt to see what they want, no?" Lavellan asked. Her companions shrugged.

They headed towards the café first, seeing as it was the closest. Looking over the guests and the tables, Lavellan's eyes were quick to catch sight of a notebook sitting at the edge of one of the tables, a bright red pattern on its cover. After reading the message, she and her companions head towards the docks, where they found another message wrapped within a red handkerchief, the parchment reeking of the smell of fish. Finally they went up to the parapets, scouring the balconies for the last clue, stuffed into a red sock of all things.

"What is the meaning of all this?" Cassandra asked in exasperation. "The notes are nothing but garbled jibberish!"

Lavellan chuckled as she read the three notes together and then handed them to Varric, who read them, and then began to snicker.

"Oh my dear warrior. Ever so impatient." Varric said teasingly.

Cassandra furrowed her brows. "What?"

"They are clues." Lavellan told her. "One whole message split into three parts. Put them together, and they reveal the path to a meeting place, as well as the time to be there."

Cassandra leaned over Varric's shoulder to re-read the notes.

"It's a rogue thing." The dwarf quipped. "We like to play with words."

The Seeker huffed. "This is why I hate the court. Just say what you mean."

"But that takes all the fun out of it!" Lavellan chuckled as she led the group back down to the plaza and headed towards the gates.

However, it seemed that they had not had enough mysterious messages for one day, as Lavellan noticed a runner fast approaching them. Her eyes immediately studied his fancy uniform, the colorful fabrics, and the bright gold stitching of the rising sun on his chest that signaled him as a member of the court. This was a very important messenger for a very important person. And with a quick glance at his hands, she noticed the odd calluses.

 _A mage? For a messenger?_ She thought with curiosity. Her questioning must have jinxed herself, because the man caught sight of her and began to approach her.

Lavellan nearly groaned. _No, no go away. I've had enough strange letters for the day!_

"You are the Herald of Andraste, are you not?" He asked with a haughty voice.

 _No, I'm not._

"I have an invitation for you." And with more superiority than she'd ever seen in a messenger boy before, he thrust a very official-looking scroll into her hands.

With a barely perceptible groan, Lavellan unrolled the invitation and felt her eyebrows fly into her hairline.

 _'_ _You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the château of Duke Bastien de Ghislain._

 _Yours,_

 _Vivienne de Fer_

 _First Enchanter of Montsimmard_

 _Enchanter to the Imperial Court'_

That was a rather brief and pointed message, especially for a courtesan. Lavellan could already tell that this was a woman who expected to be obeyed. There was no 'will you please', more of the 'be there or else.' Ugh.

 _First Enchanter to the Imperial Court?_ She wondered at the title as she handed the letter to Cassandra.

"A powerful woman." Cassandra said as she glanced at the signature, before reading the message itself. "It seems that we have garnered more attention than we thought."

"What do you think she wants?" Lavellan questioned.

"She is a complicated woman." Cassandra murmured. "One can never be sure of her endgame. But should she prove to be an ally to our cause, she will be a great asset."

The Seeker handed the note back to Lavellan. The elleth then turned to speak to the messenger. "Tell Lady Vivienne that we would be honored to attend her salon, and give her our thanks for the invitation."

The man bowed, and with a flourish, spun around and marched off.

When the young elf turned back to her companions, their amused expressions greeted her.

"What is it?" She asked, eyeing Varric's smirk with caution.

The dwarf chuckled. "You sounded awfully official there. Taking note from Ruffles, I see."

"You're learning. That's good." Cassandra nodded approvingly. "Perhaps Josephine will make a leader out of you yet."

"Ugh." Lavellan grimaced. "You know I hate politics."

"So do I." The Seeker said. "But I still know how to navigate it. You will need to learn, if the Inquisition is to succeed."

"I'm not listening to this." Lavellan sighed as she tucked the message into her belt and began to walk towards the gate.

"I'm being serious!" Cassandra and the others rushed to catch up with her. "You –"

"I said I'm not listening!"

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

However the events of the day had yet to come to an end that day. As Lavellan and her companions walked out of the gate to the Val Royeaux plaza, she noticed shadow detach itself from beneath one of the sculptures and head straight towards them.

This time, Lavellan really did let out a groan.

The woman was elven, petite, and held herself with confidence. She was older, with crow's feet around the eyes and close-cropped black hair. Still, she was very pretty as all elven women tend to be, with light green eyes and rosy cheeks that gave the illusion of youth. Her robes clearly stated her status as a Circle mage – whatever that was worth these days. The deep blue fabric, paired with gold embroidery and fur lining designated her as a high ranking mage at that, a full enchanter at the very least.

"If I might have a moment of your time?" She asked them in a rather imperious voice.

 _If I say no, will it matter?_ Lavellan internally sighed.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona?" Cassandra exclaimed with slight surprise.

 _Oh? Now this is interesting. I thought the Circles were disbanded?_

"Leader of the mage rebellion." Solas stated with the same muted surprise. "Is it not dangerous for you to be here?"

 _What?_ Lavellan felt her head whip back to stare carefully at the elf woman. _How come I don't know these things?! Josephine! Leliana! I'm going to have some choice words for you two when I get back!_

Fiona dipped her head in acknowledgement, eyeing Lavellan as if to measure her worth. "I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the Herald of Andraste with my own eyes."

Lavellan did not bother to hide her rolling eyes, earning herself a harsh nudge from Cassandra.

"If it's help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option." The mage finished. Now _that_ gained Lavellan's attention. The air of mischief dissipated around Lavellan, and suddenly Fiona was subject to scrutiny that seemed to bore into her head, as if to see into her head and study her very thoughts.

Lavellan tilted her head in a curious manner, eyes sharp. "The leader of the mages, huh? I would have thought that you would have been at the Conclave, no?"

Cassandra turned to Fiona with distrust clear on her face. "Yes," She drawled suspiciously, "And yet somehow you avoided death."

Fiona narrowed her eyes at the their accusing tones. "As did the Lord Seeker, you'll note."

Lavellan hummed and nodded in agreement. _Huh. I had not thought about that._

"Both of us sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap." Fiona explained, staring them in eyes as to reassure them that she meant no slight.

"Well you were not wrong." Lavellan shrugged.

"I won't pretend I'm not glad to live." Fiona continued, then her expression became somber. "However I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think that the Templars will get away with it. I'm hoping you won't let them."

Lavellan frowned at that. "The Templars lost men at the Conclave as well." She pointed out.

"Yet Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses, if he's concerned about them at all." Fiona retorted with the kind of disdain that many mages felt for Templars. Lavellan could not help but agree with that observation. "You heard him. You think he wouldn't happily kill the Divine to turn the people against us?"

"That's absurd!" Cassandra protested.

But Lavellan shook her head. "No, Cassandra, it is not." The Seeker gave her a look of betrayal, so she explained.

"Lucius is mad. The Templars see magic as the root of all evil – not all of them, but there are more that do than those that don't. If they thought that killing the Divine would give them the opportunity to purge the world of mages, 'for the greater good of the people', who is to say that they would not?" Lavellan glanced at Fiona, who was nodding her head in agreement. "We have already seen corruption within the Templar ranks. Who's to say that it does not go deeper?"

The Seeker looked displeased and highly disturbed, but remained silent.

Lavellan turned back to the mage. "So, you are offering to help then?"

"Oh, I haven't promised the Inquisition our help yet." Fiona replied, earning herself an unamused stare from the elven girl. "Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: Come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all."

"I'll _consider_ it." Lavellan gave her a coy smile, returning the woman's slippery manner.

Fiona gave a small smirk. "I hope to see you there, then. Au revoir, my lady Herald."

"Ugh, don't call me that!"

The Enchantress couldn't help but smirk at Lavellan's whine as she walked away.


	11. No breeches!

**I'm updating two stories in one day! I'm so proud of myself!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own nada**

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.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

The meeting place with the Friends of Red Jenny was on their way back to Haven, so they decided to take a quick detour.

It was nighttime when they arrived at a small Orlesian 'cottage' just outside the outskirts of Val Royeaux – or what counted as a cottage for Orlesian nobles. It was sprawling with fancy manicured gardens and ornate fountains. The walls were pure white, the walkways tiled black and white like a checker board.

But something was off.

The group was not stopped by any guards as they walked through the gates. In fact, the gates were unlocked and swaying absently in the wind. The courtyard within the walls showed obvious signs of disuse, with trash littering the corners, crates strewn haphazardly around the area.

Lavellan glanced at her companions, their faces mirroring each other's suspicion as they simultaneously unsheathed their weapons and crept forward. There were two guards standing near the staircase. The elleth paused and signaled for her companions to stay where they were. She ducked into the shadows and snuck forward, her feet silent as she seemed to float forward.

Pulling up behind the man, her daggers flashed in the torchlight for only a moment, and then one was hilt deep in the man's chest while the other slashed across his neck, blood spurting. The man was barely able to gasp before he was already falling face-first to the floor.

The other guard gasped at her sudden appearance.

"The Inquisition's Herald – _ack!_ "

A small throwing knife appeared in his throat, followed by Lavellan shooting towards him and shoving it further in with the heel of her hand, before wrapping her fingers around the small metal hilt and yanking it back out. She flicked off the blood absently and placed the throwing knife back into her belt.

Lavellan glanced up and caught the eye of her companions, jerking her head for them to follow her.

"Looks like they know who we are. Are they expecting us?" Varric muttered under his breath.

They continued up the stairs to the inner courtyard – only to be greeted by flying fireballs. Lavellan dodged quickly, her eyes latching onto a noble-looking man wearing ridiculously tight leggings and a garish mask.

"Herald of Andraste!" The man exclaimed in a haughty tone, placing his hands on his hips and posturing with arrogance. "How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!"

 _Um, what?_

"I don't know who you are." Lavellan deadpanned in a dry voice.

"You don't fool me! I'm too important for this to be an accident!" The man scoffed, positioning himself like some Orlesian sculpture. "My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!"

" _Guuh!_ "

They turned to look as one of the guards collapsed, a strange elven woman in mismatched clothing behind him and in the process of drawing her bow.

"Say 'what'!" She growled.

The nobleman narrowed his eyes. "What is the –"

 _Fwoop!_

He took an arrow to the jugular. Lavellan could not help but smirk. The new elven woman relaxed and sheathed her bow, walking towards the Inquisition group.

"Ugh." She shook her head at the dead man in disgust. "Squishy one, but you heard me, right? 'Just say "what".' Rich tits always try for more than they deserve."

"Blah, blah, blah! Obey me! Arrow in my face!" She bent down to retrieve her arrow, jerking it from the man's body with a small _squelch_. "So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you're… Aaaaand you're an elf. Well, hope you're not too 'elfy'."

 _Too elfy? How much more 'elfy' can the either of us be? We're elves!_ Lavellan snorted shamelessly, and the archer eyed her curiously.

"I mean, it's all good, innit?" The elleth shrugged. "The important thing is: you glow? You're the Herald thingy?"

Lavellan snorted again. _Herald thingy?_ At least she wasn't the only one that didn't put too much significance in the title.

"Yeah, some people think that. I don't, personally." Lavellan shrugged. "So who are you? And what is this little setup for?"

"No idea. Don't know this idiot from manners." The girl quipped, and Lavellan smirked just thinking about the exasperation emanating from her companions. "My people just said the Inquisition should look at him."

Judging from her disdain for all things 'elfy' and the lack of vallasalin, she wasn't talking about the Dalish.

"And who, exactly, are your people?" Lavellan questioned.

"People, people." The elleth shrugged. _Enlightening. Truly._

They both glanced up as their sensitive ears twitched, hearing the incoming footsteps of more soldiers.

"Name's Sera." The archer smirked at her as she reached for her bow, gesturing to one of the crates. "And this is cover. Get 'round it for the reinforcements. Don't worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed."

She grinned maniacally and laughed heartily. "They've got no breeches!"

A snicker escaped from Lavellan's mouth as she reached for her blades. _Oh I like her._ The footsteps were louder now, and soon the soldiers were rounding the corners. Lavellan crouched and sprang at the nearest target, hearing the whoosh of Varric and Sera's arrows fly overhead while Cassandra let out a roar and charged head-on. Lavellan felt her skin prickled as Solas cast a barrier around their companions, deflecting the arrows of the enemy snipers for a time.

"Why didn't you take their weapons?" Varric harrumphed.

Sera giggled. "Because no breeches!"

The fight was over in under a minute. Lavellan sheathed her weapons and immediately began looting the bodies – to the continued frustration of Cassandra, exasperation from Solas, and amusement of Varric.

Sera paused to study Lavellan, her eyes noticing the callused and scarred hands and the lack of emotion in her eyes as the other elleth scoured pockets for changed. Huh. She would have thought the famed 'Herald of Andraste' would be some stuck-up warrior shooting holy fire from their arse. But this elf was a rogue, and a damn scrappy one at that.

She decided then that she like this Herald.

"Friends really came through with that tip." Sera stated conversationally. "No breeches!" She fell into another fit of giggles.

Lavellan stood up from looting the nobleman to face her. Sera did not miss the way she had slipped off every jeweled accessory on his person and then some, idly wiping the blood on her hands onto her pants without a care to the stains.

"So, Herald of Andraste," Sera addressed this strange elven woman. "You're a strange one. I'd like to join."

Lavellan leaned on one leg and crossed her arms. "Why don't you explain what your group is, first."

"It's like this." Sera began to explain. "I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That's me. As well as all these other people, from Orlais to Kirkwall to Ferelden… you get the picture."

The elleth fidgeted as she continued. "It's just a name, yeah? It lets little people, "friends", be a part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So I use them to help you. Plus arrows."

"The Inquisition already has spies… although one can never have enough." Lavellan shrugged.

Sera shook her head. "Nah, it's not like that. Not quite. You've got cloaks and spy kings –like this tit," She gestured towards the dead noble, "All those secrets, and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don't know shite but knows a bad person when he sees one."

"Look, I want to help… whatever this it is. This 'Inquisition'." Sera appealed to her.

Lavellan shrugged and nodded. "Well we aren't exactly in a place to pick and choose our friends right now. Welcome aboard, Sera."

"Yes!" Sera fist-pumped like some kid that got the sweet roll. "Get in good before you're too big to like! That'll keep your britches where they should be."

Lavellan raised a brow at her.

"Plus extra breeches 'cause I have all these… there are merchants that buy this shite, right?" Sera asked comically.

"There are merchants for everything." Lavellan shrugged. "Loot is loot."

Behind her, Lavellan heard Cassandra scoff and mutter _'rogues'_ under her breath like a bad name. It almost made her smirk.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

Lavellan internally marveled at the sense of familiarity she felt as she walked through the gates of Haven once again. More and more she was coming to see this place as – well, not quite home, but still somewhere to come back to. And she wasn't sure if she should be upset about that or not. She still did not see the humans as her people, nor did she consider the Inquisition her cause. She only worked alongside them so that they would not charge her for the Divine's death.

 _Oh my._ Lavellan thought in shock. _It's only been two weeks since this chaos started._

It seemed like years since the sky had ripped open the world had fallen to its knees.

Once they arrived, Solas and Varric had disappeared to their usual haunts while Sera had cursed the cold weather and went in search of something strong and alcoholic to warm her insides. Lavellan glanced at Cassandra as the Seeker accompanied her to the Chantry, and observed the Seeker's steady walk, straight back and stubborn gaze. Cassandra seemed so sure of herself all the time. Lavellan envied her, just a little.

"Your kind killed the most Holy!"

"Lies! Your kind let her _die!_ "

 _Ah shite…_ She and Cassandra exchanged worried glances. A small mob was gathered outside the front doors of the shrine, a clear line drawn between the mages and their supporters, and the templars and theirs.

"Shut your mouth, mage!" The templar snarled as he reached for his sword and the mage went for his staff, only for Cullen, their _dashing_ commander, _dashing_ in between the two and pushing them apart.

It was all very… _dashing._ Lavellan smothered a giggle. Sera would have liked that one.

"Enough!" Cullen snapped at both of them, sending the templars a particularly hard look given his high expectations for the Order.

"Knight-Commander!" The templars exclaimed in shock.

"That is not my title." Cullen growled. "We are _not_ templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition!"

Both the templars and the mages looked properly chastised at his words. She had to give the man credit. He was a wonderful leader.

"And what does that _mean_ , exactly?"

 _Ah, dickface. Figures he was behind this. Bet he played devil's advocate for both sides, inciting this mess._ Lavellan sneered at the man as she pushed her way through the crowd towards where the two men were facing off. The tension was so thick she thought she saw sparks between them. And not the good kind. _Ew, bad mental image._

"Back already, Chancellor? Haven't you don't enough?" Cullen asked in a dry voice. It seemed he wasn't surprised at the man's presence either.

"I'm curious, Commander, as to how the Inquisition and its 'Herald' will restore order, as you've promised." The man sneered, looking like a well-dressed rat.

"You know, if you dislike us so much you can just leave."

The men turned at the sibilant voice, an annoyed elf walking up to stand beside them, flinty eyes turning to the Chancellor.

"The Inquisition has given you food and shelter here, Roder _dick_. Don't you know better than to piss off your hosts?" She curled her lip at the man. "I'll gladly buy a ticket for you to leave on the next caravan, if you find this place so displeasing."

 _Sometimes, a person's very existence just pisses me off_. Lavellan thought. _And this man is most certainly one of them._

Roderdick seemed to flounder for words for a few seconds, just longer enough for Cullen to shout, "Alright! Back to your duties, all of you!"

Perhaps it was because the templars and mages were feeling uncomfortable having acted like children in front of the Herald, perhaps it was because some people did not want to be nearby to watch the seething elf rip the Chancellor's head off, but the crowd dispersed rather quickly. It also helped to have a disapproving Seeker standing among them, her arms crossed and lips pursed, making the soldiers scramble to escape her wrathful gaze.

"The mages and templars were already at war." Cullen turned his disapproving gaze back to the Chancellor. "Now you've got them blaming each other for the Divine's death."

"Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order!" Roderdick scoffed.

Cullen snorted. "Who, you? A random cleric who was not important enough to be at the Conclave?"

 _Oh wow, Cullen has sass!_ Lavellan marveled at the sight of the usually composed Commander.

"The rebel Inquisition and the so-called 'Herald of Andraste'? I think not." Roderdick sneered. Again.

Lavellan interceded now. "You know, if you keep sneering and pinching your nose like that, your face will probably be stuck. Not that it would change much. You usually look constipated anyway." Then she chuckled. "But if you're so insistent, we can just sit here and twiddle our thumbs while the world is consumed by demons. I'm sure they'll elect a new Divine in a decade or two."

Roderdick look positively scandalized at her criticism of the Chantry. Lavellan savored the expression.

"The Chantry had already failed before the events at the Conclave." She continued. "If they had not lost control of both the templars and the mages, there would be no war in the first place."

The Chancellor was aghast. "So you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a murderer? What of justice?"

" _Justice_?" Lavellan let out a piercing bark of laughter, making both Cullen and Roderdick look at her like she was crazy. "Funny, coming from a Chantry cleric. If I didn't have the Mark you guys would have used me as a scapegoat and thrown me in jail without even a trial. After all, I'm just an _elf_. No one would give a damn about me."

Roderdick narrowed his eyes. "How dare you accuse the Chantry of – "

"Of what? Doing the same thing it's always done?" Lavellan sneered. "You and your kind are not holy men called to create a better world. All you care about is making yourself look important and furthering your own agenda. Half of the Chantry hierarchy is the result of political scheming, not good deeds and kind hearts."

"You are a heathen!" The Chancellor scoffed. "I do not expect you to grasp the importance of the Chantry's role in Thedas!"

"The Chantry is not doing anything to restore order, at this point." Cullen interrupted. "It won't protect the hundreds of people powerless against the demons coming through the Breach!"

"Ha!" Roderdick glared at the Commander. "Order will never be restored so long as this rebellion is allowed to fester."

"Then _leave_." Lavellan grabbed the front of his robes and gave him a good shove, forcing the little rat man to stumble. "No one wants you here anyway. Go, before I deliver you to your dear Maker myself."

She could see Cullen trying not to snicker as the Chancellor walked away snarling unkind words under his breath. Then Commander turned to her, attempting to plaster a look of disapproval on his face as he opened his mouth to scold her.

"Don't bother." Lavellan waved him off, her narrowed eyes following Roderick as he walked away. "Commander, if you hear the Chancellor spreading anymore dissent among our ranks, I don't care if he is not a soldier, I want him court-marshalled like one. I will not tolerate rats dividing our men at a time like this."

Both Cullen and Cassandra blinked in surprise at her command, brows rising at the threatening tone in her voice.

"If he continues to undermine our efforts here, I will have that man labeled a traitor." Lavellan's expression was deadly serious. "His words are poisoning morale, and I will not tolerate it."

With that the Herald spun to enter the Chantry, leaving the two warriors behind to gawk at her leave.

"I didn't imagine that, right?" The commander asked the woman beside him.

Cassandra finally realized her mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut. "I have never seen her act like that before."

They exchanged bewildered glances.

"We – we should head inside." Cassandra cleared her throat. "We bring news from Val Royeaux."

The Seeker pushed open the doors, the commander right behind her as they caught up to Lavellan.

"It's good you've returned. We heard of your encounter." Josephine's voice cut through the Chantry as she exited her office.

Cassandra frowned at that. "You heard?" Her eyes immediately went towards the spymaster as Leliana advanced towards them from the war room.

"My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course." Leliana spoke unapologetically.

"Of course." The Seeker muttered dryly under her breath. Cassandra's aversion to all things cloak and dagger never failed to amuse.

"It's a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital." Cullen muttered in disgust.

"At least we know how to approach each party now." Lavellan replied. "Although I don't think Lord-whats-his-face gave us an invitation to negotiate."

Cassandra's expression became grave at that. "He is not the man I remember."

They began to advance together towards the war room as Leliana gave her own opinion. "True, Lord Seeker has taken the Order somewhere. But to do what? My reports have been very… odd."

"Odd?" Lavellan questioned. "More odd than a hole in the sky and demons in the physical world?"

Josephine stifled a giggle behind her while Leliana huffed in amusement.

"We must look into it." Cullen said adamantly. "I'm certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker."

Josephine spoke up. "Or the Herald could simply go meet the mages in Redcliffe instead. It is certainly the most valid option – we know that the mages are willing. The Templars are not."

"You think the mage rebellion is more united?" Cullen scoffed. "It could be ten times worse!"

 _Tch._ Lavellan rolled her eyes. _Children._

"Someone just make a decision." She snapped at the advisors, Cassandra voicing her agreement beside her.

"We shouldn't discount mages." Josephine stated. "The mages may be worth the risk."

"They are more desperate than you realize." Cassandra retorted calmly, "If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave…"

"The same can be said for the Templars." The diplomat pointed out.

Much to Lavellan's surprise, Cullen acceded to the accusation. "True enough." He said. "Right now, I am not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely."

They all agreed to that.

"In the meantime, we should consider other options." Josephine added, motioning for the group to enter the war room. Cullen and Cassandra immediately followed her, but before Lavellan could walk away, Leliana stopped her.

"There is one other matter."

 _Well shit. Aren't there enough matters? No more matters!_ Lavellan sighed as she turned to face the spymaster.

"Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished."

Hm, yes, she remembered hearing such whispers.

Leliana actually looked worried – an expression that no one wanted to see. When the immovable redhead was worried, something big was happening.

"I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared." Leliana shook her head. "Ordinarily I wouldn't even consider the idea that they're involved in all this, but the timing is…"

"Suspicious." Lavellan supplied.

"Curious." She finished.

Lavellan nodded but her expression remained neutral. "I don't see how that is connected to the Breach, but given how crazy things have been, I doubt it would surprise me if it was."

"My agents in the Hinterlands have heard news of a Grey Warden by the name Blackwall." Leliana informed her. "If you have the opportunity, seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease."

 _Mind at ease? What – oh._ Lavellan often forgot that Leliana fought beside the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. It was hard to match the legend to a real person.

"You must be very worried if you are making this personal." Lavellan said softly.

Leliana nodded. "It is. The Warden and I were very close. Her disappearance makes me uneasy."

Worry flashed in her eyes before it was hidden behind her professionalism. Lavellan understood the agony of not knowing, and nodded to the redhead.

"I will look into it." She replied, noting the relief evident on Leliana's face. "But I cannot promise anything."

"As long as we try." Leliana murmured as she turned and lead them towards the war room, holding the door open for the elf behind her.

Lavellan thanked her softly as she strode into the room, her eyes drawn to the map on the table, Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra waiting patiently for them.

"First order of business." Lavellan spoke, missing the way Josephine and Leliana exchanged smug glances at her attitude. "Josephine, do you know the Orlesian First Enchanter Vivienne?"

The Antivan's brows shot up. "Madame de Fer. A formidable woman, both feared and respected. What of her?"

"Guess who was personally invited to attend her _salon_." Cassandra chuckled, and Josephine's eyes nearly bulged as she stared at Lavellan.

"You –you –oh my!" She sputtered, but instead of being pleased, she seemed to panic. "This is bad! You don't know court etiquette or the names of anyone in attendance – dear Andraste! What will you wear? I don't even know what the styles are for this month!"

The elf turned to Cassandra and mouthed in disbelief, _'This month?'_

"Calm yourself, Lady Montilyet." Leliana chuckled. "I assure, as long as the Herald shows up in armor, the nobles will be too dazzled to judge her too harshly." The redhead turned to the elf. "Although be sure to clean off the blood beforehand."

"I'll keep that in mind." Lavellan murmured, turning back to their diplomat. "Josephine, I was wondering if there was anything of importance that I should know before I meet with the Madame."

Josephine hummed as she wracked her mental library on nobility, counts, and dignitaries. "Well, as you may guess, she is very powerful both in magic and in influence. She is the first to hold the position of Imperial Enchanter and actually use it as a political office – beforehand, the position was little more than a court jester. _Everyone_ in the Orlesian court knows the Madame de Fer, or 'the lady of iron'. She has the ear of Empress Celene herself, and from what I hear, is quite familiar with the empress. Many have described her as a force of nature – when she speaks she expects to be obeyed, and few dare not to."

Lavellan nodded. "An impressive resume." She murmured.

"When do you expect to meet her?" Josephine inquired.

"The salon is scheduled for this weekend." Lavellan answered, pulling out the message and handing it to the Antivan. "That gives me just enough time to rest for a day and then travel back to Val Royeaux."

"So busy." Leliana hummed, seemingly amused.

"Well I don't see anyone else with the balls to run all over the continent and do this shit." Lavellan grumbled as she crossed her arms, her language making their poor commander blush.

"Not to mention she specifically asked for you." Leliana pointed out. "It would be rude to send anyone else."

"Maker forbid I am rude to a fucking courtier." Lavellan muttered under her breath, but Leliana heard her and nudged her reproachfully.

Josephine practically groaned at that. "Oh, please do not!" She begged. "We cannot afford to make an enemy out of Lady Vivienne!" Josephine looked faint.

"Relax." Lavellan sighed. "I'll behave. Promise."

The Antivan did not look convinced and began to mutter about setting Lavellan up with some etiquette training.

"If that is all, I am long overdue for a pint." Lavellan clapped her hands as she glanced at each of her advisors to see if they had anything else to say ("A pint? A _pint_?!" Josephine moaned. "Ladies do not go for a pint!"). Ah, good, no objections then.

With that the elf bid the advisors adieu and spun on her heel, her mind occupied by the thought of a warm fire and piss-poor ale.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

 **Sera POV**

Haven's tavern was neither the best nor the worst place Sera had ever been for a drink. It was clean, that was more than she could say for most taverns. The alcohol was more moonshine, and the most refined drink that they had was low-quality wine. But the atmosphere was friendly, jovial on good days, with a large hearth warming the entire room and a nice bard singing away in the corner with her lute. The bar maid was polite, although Sera couldn't help but snicker when she saw the star-struck look on everyone's face when the Herald walked in.

Seeing the Herald without armor on was… well, it jarred Sera a bit. Lavellan looked so… normal. Ignoring the Mark, of course. She wore clean breeches and a worn tunic, snow boots, and a heavy coat. With her Mark hidden by her gloves, the Herald could have passed for any normal elf. Sera almost didn't see her walk in. Ironically, it wasn't her glowing hand that helped Sera identify Lavellan, but the long black braid that swung like a pendulum behind her as she walked.

The other elf slinked through the crowd like oil through water, not a step out of place, her footsteps silent. Her face was carefully schooled into a neutral expression that made it easy for someone to overlook her.

Sera had to admit, she was good. Any rogue would be jealous of her sneaking skills.

"Sera." The Herald greeted her in a soft, low voice, taking a seat across from her little table in the tavern corner.

"Wha's up?" Sera pulled over an empty chair and used it as a footrest, nonchalantly taking a swig of ale.

"Just welcoming you to Haven. What do you think of the place?" The Herald motioned to the bar maid to bring her something, then focused back on Sera. Her smile was a small, fake little thing. Good enough to fool those silly nobles, but not Sera. She wondered who the Herald _really_ was, beneath the title and the mask.

"This is it?" Sera waved at their surroundings. "It's fine, yeah. It's just… thought it'd be bigger." Then she giggled as her dirty thoughts kicked in. "That would have been _hilarious_ if you were a man, right?" She sighed. "Waste of a good joke."

The Herald chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Anyway," Sera continued as the bar maid swept by and deposited a pint in front of the Herald, "Stopping wars should earn more sovereigns than this. Need things back to normal for coin to be flowing again. Another reason why the Templars and mages need to be sat down."

"You make them sound like two children squabbling over a pastry." The Herald sighed. "If only it were that easy."

"But that's the point, right?" Sera scowled as the Herald took a drink of ale. "There's a fuckin' hole in the sky and they still wanna punch each other!"

"That's exactly how I put it!" The Herald exclaimed in exasperation.

Sera nodded. "The shites are too busy to look up where the real questions are."

The Herald snorted. "That's pretty deep, hun." She drawled.

"First things first, though." Sera smirked. "I help you – march, march, arrow, kick – then people stop being stupid, and everything starts making sense again. Sound good to you, all-touched Lady Herald?"

"People will always be stupid." The Herald pointed out dryly. "And don't call me that. I _hate_ that title. My name is fucking Lavellan and people need to learn to fucking use it."

"La-vel-lan?" Sera wrinkled her nose. _Sounds like 'la-la-la'. Stupid elvish shite all sing-song-y._ "I think calling you Herald is easier."

The other elf glared at her. "Don't make me kick you."

Sera laughed at that. "I like you. You got spirit, yeah." She gave Lavellan a conspiratorial look as she lowered her voice. "You're not really Dalish… are you? I mean, yeah, ya got the face paint goin' on, but you act… well, you seem more like a city elf to me."

The Herald looked amused now, and simply raised her eyebrow as if to say, _oh?_

"Crouching in the blood and muck to loot every corpse you come across. Disregard for the dead. Especially the way you scrapped with some of those guards at that noble's place. I know the 'devil's snap-around' when I see it." Sera leaned back and crossed her arms smugly. "That was street fightin' right there. You don't learn that out in the forest. I know a _street rat_ when I see one."

There was a tense silence that followed that. The Herald – _Lavellan –_ kept her expression eerily blank, her lids half-lowered as they stared at her without emotion, only calculation. Sera felt her hairs stand on end, and fidgeted under the predacious gaze. Her finger began to tap the rim of her mug, only increasing Sera's tension. A slow smile began to stretch across Lavellan's face, bitter and brittle, and Sera half expected to see fangs poking out from under her teeth in some mockery of the predator she so resembled at the moment.

"You have a good eye." Lavellan murmured slowly, her voice sliding down Sera's spine like a drop of chilled water. "No one else has noticed. Although Varric did comment on my lock-picking skills once."

"An ex-thief then?" Sera spoke, her voice shakier than she'd like.

Lavellan sniffed. "'Tis no such thing. Once a thief, always a thief. 'Can't wash off sticky fingers', as they say in Antiva." The elf shook her head. "But no, I am not exactly that either."

Sera attempted to shake off the chill that had crept over her and channel the reckless bravery she was known for. "Then what are you?"

"Everyone has their facets." Lavellan murmured. "But you are correct in your assumptions. I have no memory of my parents. I grew up living in the sewer, stealing bread from the market and running from the city guards. I barely had a rag large enough to cover all my little private bits, and my only skill was cutting purses and fitting into small hidey-holes."

"How did you end up with the elfy people then?" Sera pointed at the markings on her face, their meaning lost to her. They were kinda cool-looking though. She had not noticed before, but Lavellan's tattoos were rather sparse. Just a few swirls along her forehead like a crown upon her brow, sweeping down her temples to trail off along her cheekbones, and a small bit of markings on her chin just below her bottom lip. Most Dalish had more obnoxious markings all over their faces, making their allegiances quite clear to anyone who happened to glance at them, shouting to the world _'woohoo look at me, I'm an elf, feel sorry for me, la-la-la'._

"They took me in." Lavellan shrugged. Her fingers went to her face and absently traced the markings there.

"Didn't think they liked outsiders. Especially _dirty shem-elves_." Sera spat.

Lavellan had relaxed now, leaning back in her seat and shrugging. "I suppose it helped that I saved some of their children from Tevinter slavers. By that time I was rather skilled in fighting off those bastards. Slavers always go for the homeless city elves first."

Sera's mouth flattened into a grim line as she remembered similar experiences in Denerim. "Yeah, got that right." She growled, taking a large gulp of alcohol.

"I was also on the run at that point, so Keeper Deshanna offered me a place in the clan. And with the gratitude of many parents, I was welcomed." Lavellan sipped from her drink. "Doesn't mean things were easy for me. Assimilation's a bitch. Especially the constant camping. I'm a city girl at heart." She chuckled self-deprecatingly.

Sera leaned forward and set her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. "So this ain't your first adventure, aye?"

"Neither is it yours, I'll wager." Lavellan nodded.

Sera shrugged with a Cheshire grin. "Ya got secrets, girlie." She tapped the side of her nose. "Then again, we all do, so I won't pry. And don't worry about the others – this will be our little secret."

"At least until Varric figures it out." Lavellan chuckled in response.


	12. Elsa wishes she was Vivienne

**Another chapter up everyone! I'm gonna be done with the edited chapters by ch. 13, so you'll start seeing some newer content soon, for those readers who have been following from day one. Thanks for sticking it out with me everyone!**

* * *

"Lady Lavellan, on behalf of the Inquisition."

 _Snazzy title. Better than being called the 'Herald'._ She thought as she walked into the foyer of Madame de Fer's 'country cottage' – again, displaying the Orlesian talent of gross understatements. The 'cottage' was actually a sprawling mansion, and her little 'salon' was less of an informal gathering, and more of a full-blown ball of some sort. Lavellan suddenly felt underdressed in her armor and worn leather boots, compared to the guests in swathes of satin and velvet, glittering with jewels, feathers, and painted masks. Two such guests approached her almost as soon as she walked in.

"What a pleasure to meet you, my lady." A masked man greeted her. "Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome. You must be a guest of Madame de Fer?"

She nodded.

"Are you here on business?" The woman beside him asked in that annoying high pitch that court women tended to have. "I have heard the most curious of tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true!"

Lavellan wished that she had a mask herself, so that she could roll her eyes at the gossip-monger without being reprimanded.

"Depends," She replied to the noble woman. "What are these tales that you speak of?"

"Surely you know!" The woman gasped. "Touched by the holy hand of Andraste herself! They say you survived the attack on the Conclave by her divine intervention! That she saved you by taking you into the sky, and returning you to earth when it was done."

 _Only the Orlesians would have such wild imaginations._ Lavellan chuckled. The story was certainly… inspired. But she had to admit, it was not far from the truth – she _had_ survived a mysterious explosion, she had somehow been swept into the Fade, and some glowing woman had saved her life. If it had not happened to her personally, Lavellan would never have believed such a story.

"Er yeah." She chuckled under her breath as she answered the masked woman. "Everything is completely true."

 _Why not feed the rumor mill? It will at least keep these damn nobles entertained._

The noblewoman tittered. "The Inquisition should attend more of these parties!"

A loud scoff from above had Lavellan glancing up to see another fancy-dressed, masked nobleman walking down the stairs like he owned them.

"The Inquisition?" He sneered. "What a load of pig shit."

 _Tut, tut. Language!_ Lavellan sighed as she eyed him, automatically gaging him as a potential threat. _Who is this douche?_

"Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously." The man scoffed as he came to stand in front of her, posturing like an overgrown rooster.

 _Oh honey, would I love to introduce you to Leliana and Cassandra and have you say that to their faces._

"Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power."

The other nobles witnessing this man's behavior seemed appalled. To treat their host's guest in such a way! Sure, the nobles were a catty bunch, but they rarely outright used such vulgar words towards another, and never in another's house!

"We have made no moves against the Chantry or the existing governments of Thedas." Lavellan carefully played diplomat, fighting against the scathing comments that fought to escape her mouth. "We exist to restore order, not play petty games with politicians."

The man scoffed for the umpteenth time and attempted to intimidate her by closing the distance between them and loom over her. "I know what your 'Inquisition' truly is…"

She raised an eyebrow at him, while staring with the most bored and unimpressed expression she could muster. It did the job, as his eyes narrowed behind his mask and his lips thinned in anger.

"Tch." He glared at her. "If you were a woman of honor, you'd step outside and answer the charges!"

Just as Lavellan thought about how much of a waste of her time that would be, she noticed those little sparkles of frost that she remembered preceding Solas' winter attacks.

 _Mage!_ She took a quick step back, just in time to see the man freeze as he reached for his sword. In the literal sense of the word. _Ugh, frostbite._

"My dear marquis," A calm, tightly controlled female voice spoke from above. "How unkind of you to use such language in _my_ house to _my_ guests."

A powerful mage, Lavellan noted. The woman had used a proper spell without the use of a staff, not to mention magic emanated from her in waves. From the way that the woman walked, Lavellan could tell that she was more than just magically powerful – the nobles bowed their heads as she passed. This was the authority in this house. The infamous Madame de Fer.

"You know such rudeness is… intolerable." Despite the posh tone of her voice, there was no mistaking the underlying danger it exuded.

"M-Madame Vivienne!" The man stuttered, much to Lavellan's amusement. "I beg your pardon."

 _Yes. Beg you little twat._

"You should." Lady Vivienne snapped. "Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?"

The mage turned to address Lavellan. "My lady, you are the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?"

Lavellan did not even bother to glance at the man in question. "He is an insignificant thing." She said, noting that Vivienne smirked at that. "Do whatever you feel is appropriate. It is your house, and I have no interest in him."

The Madame hummed in amusement, a predatory smile curling on her lips. She was like a snake curling up to strike, practically licking her lips as she turned back to the marquis and taking his chin in hand. The tongue lashing that she gave the poor man had him quaking in his tights, wielding her tongue as effectively as a blade. Lavellan would be lying if she said that she was not impressed, if a little intimidated herself. After the marquis ran out of the mansion with his tail between his legs, Lady Vivienne caught Lavellan's eyes and motioned for her to follow.

The mage led her out onto one of the patios overlooking the gardens, leaving the din of the party behind them.

"Allow me to introduce myself," The regal woman spoke as she came to a stop in front of an open-air window. "I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."

Lavellan bowed her head politely. "Impressive titles, Madame."

Vivienne's mask did not hide the surprise that flitted across her face. She hummed thoughtfully. "You are not as untrained as your appearance suggests, Lady Lavellan."

"Things are not always as they seem." The elf winked back at the mage.

Vivienne snorted. "So familiar with Orlesian culture?"

Lavellan shrugged, but gave no further comment, and so the Madame continued.

"I wanted to meet you face to face. It is important to consider one's options carefully." She spoke with a haughty air that seemed to come naturally to her. "You claim that the Inquisition seeks to restore order, yes? The Chantry is in shambles, and no one else it stepping up to quell the chaos. As leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I feel that it is only right to lend my assistance to your cause."

"An Orlesian lending aid so freely?" Lavellan spoke lightly. "No one would ever believe it. What is in it for you, my lady?"

"The same thing anyone gets by fighting this chaos," Vivienne said seriously, although her expression remained politely friendly. "The chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate. I won't wait quietly for destruction."

"A noble statement." Lavellan murmured with a neutral expression. "I've always been one to run away from my problems, personally. Recent events, however, have limited my options."

Vivienne eyed the Mark with a combination of scholarly curiosity and wariness. "I imagine so."

"Well then," Lavellan glanced over the enchantress once more, "You are certainly powerful, and more than capable. And I will not lie – the Inquisition needs all of the support it can get. The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Madame de Fer."

Vivenne gave her a Cheshire grin, probably confident that she would be accepted from the very beginning.

"Great things are beginning, my dear." The enchantress told her. "I can promise you that."

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

After speaking with Madame Vivienne, Lavellan was left to enjoy the rest of the party. Cassandra was the only companion to accompany her this time, Varric citing some bullshit excuse about being allergic to nobles and Solas pulling the apostate card. Despite her own aversions to politics, Cassandra had been born into the hierarchy, and thus knew how to navigate the Game. The Seeker had gone off to speak with several people she had recognized at the party, using her family name to garner some potential allies for Josephine to cultivate.

Feeling like some freak show with her vallaslin and pointed ears, Lavellan opted to blend into the shadows, watching the nobles at a safe distance. Despite the scandal from earlier, no one seemed to notice the missing Herald. Perhaps they thought she was still speaking with Vivienne in some secluded part of the estate.

Her dark leathers helped her disappear into the darker corners of the chateau, the elf exiting the main rooms and opting to linger in the gardens where there were less eyes and ears and rumor mongering. Vivienne had done well for herself; Duke Ghislain had granted her a beautiful estate. The gardens were well-tended and quiet, the winding pathways and tall vine-covered walls guaranteed privacy for those who would retreat into its depths.

"Psst!"

She spun around and had the servant pressed up against a grate before he even got the chance to breathe, a blade snug against his jugular.

"Wait, wait!" An old elven servant yelped, holding up his hands.

Lavellan eyed him warily. He was shorter than her, thin and weary, his face lightly lined with wrinkles, lips dry, eyes dark blue, ears flickering nervously under a mop of graying hair. His hands were calloused, stained with dirt, a man of manual labor, not an indoor servant. Her eyes swept down his body, relieved to see no sign of a hidden weapon.

 _What is he doing here?_ She wondered, and then it dawned on her. Lavellan narrowed her eyes and pressed her blade firmly against his neck, her other hand pinning his shoulder to the wall.

"You're one of Briala's people." She accused the elf.

"Y-yes..." The man nodded slowly, careful of the sharp knife on his neck.

Lavellan felt her stomach drop. _Crap._ "How did she know about me?"

The spy stiffened, and then shook his head. "She doesn't, I swear!"

"Then why are you here?" She demanded.

"I'm not here on Briala's orders!" The servant told her, his expression suddenly nervous. "I - I recognized you."

 _Recognized me? Shit._ It was not like her to leave loose ends. How had she missed this one? Lavellan glanced around the gardens, making sure they were alone. She could kill him now. No one would have to know. But she couldn't help but be curious.

"How do you know me?" She asked the servant, not once letting up the grip she had on her knife.

"Eight years ago." The elf gulped, his neck scraping the edge of her blade as it bobbed. "The Mantillon mission."

Lavellan tilted her head and studied the man again, this time imagining him younger, his hair darker, his body more muscled. Yes, she vaguely remembered the man. They had not interacted, however, save for obeying orders.

"Briala has been looking for you ever since you disappeared." The servant continued. "She wanted to offer you sanctuary."

 _You mean she wanted to recruit me._ The elleth felt her eyebrows rise. "It has been almost a decade. I am surprised anyone would recognize me."

"Well, the vallaslin was a good cover." His eyes flickered across her face. "I almost doubted my instincts for a moment there. A little hard to forget a northern elf, though."

Her skin color always gave her away. She almost rolled her eyes at that. She wasn't the only northern elf in the south, but they were still rare.

"So, the Herald of Andraste?" The spy raised his brows. "Title like that gets some attention. Won't be long until your old master finds you."

She was well aware.

"Briala could help you. We have contacts -"

"The Inquisition already has spies." She interrupted him.

"But do they know who you are?" The elf questioned her. "Who you were before you went to the Dalish?"

Her silence was answer enough.

He smirked now, eyes glinting, teeth flashing in the shadows. "Briala knows. We could help you keep things hush-hush. Your own people never have to know -"

"I know better than to trust my dirty secrets with an Orlesian." The elf chuckled at him. Attempting to blackmail her now? Fool. She had played the Game before, and this was nothing compared to the stakes she had once gambled.

She thought about letting the spy go, but then it occurred to her: Could she afford to let Briala know she was still alive? He would doubtless report to her the moment she allowed him to leave. Briala was one of the biggest players in the Game. If she knew, others would soon follow. Whispers would spread, and eventually the one chasing her would catch her scent once again.

 _He is disposable._ She reminded herself, thinking of the countless servants across Orlais who ultimately answered to Briala. The spymaster would simply send another to infiltrate Vivienne's staff. _We were all disposable._

Suddenly the air seemed to still, the servant freezing as the woman before him seemed to transform into a completely different person. Every part of her body seemed to sharpen, her eyes glinting and expression hardening as her demeanor changed into that of an apex predator. He shivered as he made eye contact, the world around them melting away as he recognized the woman that he had met eight years ago, a little older, a little wiser, and still just as deadly.

"Apologies." She murmured, and the man gasped as he felt the blade sink into his neck. Lavellan's expression was dispassionate as she watched the servant slide down the wall and crumple onto the floor. "But I can't let you leave here alive."

She left the body in the gardens and quietly slipped into the servants' quarters, avoiding the servants as she used the unseen passageways to emerge in another section of the party entirely. No one would know that she had been in the garden that night. Not that it would bother the nobles, servants were mere pawns in the Game. Not even Briala would think twice about it.

Regardless, Lavellan quickly found Cassandra and bid the party adieu. She couldn't leave Orlais fast enough.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

After Lavellan returned to Haven, she was once again swept away by the advisors to attend to – in her opinion – rather dull and unnecessary tasks. She was asked to overlook the financial accounts of the Inquisition, decide where to send aid, place support, and what to invest in. Lavellan thought that her decisions were rather simple and obvious – first invest their money in stocking medical supplies, then sending reinforcements into the Hinterlands, therefore clearing trade between the Frostbacks and the valley. But according to Josephine, they needed her say-so to make such requests 'official'.

They had exhausted Lavellan with their tireless arguing: Leliana insisted that the majority of their finances go to secure supplies, while Cullen argued for updated armor and weaponry for their men; Josephine nagged her about opening communication with the Orlesians, while Cassandra was constantly reminding Lavellan that they had things to do and a world to save and _why was she still playing diplomat with the advisors?_

Lavellan was about ready to snap!

She heaved a sigh as she finally was allowed to leave the meeting room, walking briskly down the main hall of the chantry without looking like she was running away. Lavellan passed a niche where she noticed their latest ally, Vivienne, lighting a candle and praying.

"My Lady." Lavellan spoke softly as she walked up behind the mage.

Vivienne tensed, obviously startled at her arrival. The woman turned around and swept her gaze over Lavellan, pursing her lips. "Such silent footsteps." She murmured, although the elf could not tell whether or not Vivienne was displeased.

"I met an elven mage, earlier." The enchanter continued. "Solas, I believe he was called. I admit I was surprised. I did not expect to find mages among the Inquisition."

"Believe it or not, but Solas volunteered to join the Inquisition." Lavellan told her. "And from what I've heard, he practically ordered them to let him in."

"And why were _you_ at the Divine Conclave?" Vivienne queried.

"Are you asking why the Dalish would be interested in Chantry business?" The elleth asked, "Or why I would be personally concerned with the Conclave?"

"The Conclave was everyone's business, whether they would admit it or not." Vivienne scoffed. "The war between mages and templars has spread through the lands regardless of borders, race, or affiliation."

Lavellan nodded at that. "Precisely why the Dalish bothered to pay it any attention."

"So you were a spy?" The mage gleaned, eyes studying the elleth with a calculating glint.

Lavellan chuckled. "I prefer the term 'uninvited guest'."

Vivienne smirked at that. "That must not have gone over well with some."

"Leliana and Cassandra were none too pleased to hear _that_ when they first met me." Lavellan told her, smirking.

"So then why did you stay?"

The elleth shrugged. "A number of reasons, aside from the glowing green problem of course. This conflict would eventually have spread to the Dalish, not to mention that the Templars are hunting our Keepers and their apprentices. I would have had to fight regardless. At least this way I have access to better information, and I can keep an eye on the human kingdoms."

"Prudent, aren't you?"

"I try."

The enchanter sighed and glanced down at the candles, a thoughtful look in her eye. "Justinia's death has shattered the balance of power in Thedas. If it is not restored quickly, countless lives will be lost. Mages, templars, innocent people of all kinds now look to the Inquisition to decide their fate."

 _Gee, no pressure._ The elf thought.

"Then you are here for the same reason as me – to have a hand in deciding that fate." Lavellan murmured, glancing at the mage staff that was leaning against the wall nearby.

"For almost a thousand years, the world believed it was in the hands of the Maker." Vivienne looked pointedly at Lavellan's Mark. "And now many believe _you_ are the agent of His will. Whatever the truth is, that belief gives you power."

"Power, huh?" Lavellan sighed and reached up to rub her temples. "Such power is something I fear. Not just in myself, but in anyone."

"'Tis true." The mage dipped her head. "Hm, but I'm afraid I have stolen enough of your time, my dear. Don't let me keep you."

Lavellan nodded and turned to leave. "Until next time, Vivienne."

The elf exited the prayer niche and returned to the main hall of the chantry, a frown etched onto her face. She was getting a headache from all the 'chosen one' speeches that people kept giving her, and she really just wanted alcohol at this point. When she reached the exit, Lavellan practically threw the doors to the chantry open and walked out into the freezing air. A blast of cold air hit her face, biting her nose and the tips of her ears, while her boots crunched the snow underfoot. The chantry doors were pushed closed by the guards behind her.

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted her thoughts of freedom.

"Excuse me?"

She turned to look towards her right, noting the young man in armor. When she had walked by him, she had merely thought him to be another Inquisition soldier. But now that she studied his armor, it was not one of their uniforms.

 _Shame on me._ Lavellan thought with mild displeasure. _I should be more aware of my surroundings._

"What?" She snapped in a short tone.

The young man looked a little startled at her attitude, but quickly composed himself in a professional manner. "I've got a message for the Inquisition, but I am having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me."

Lavellan eyed his uniform, noting that it was well-made and individualized. He was no mere courier, there was no official emblem of any group that Joesphine was currently negotiating with, so he was not a foot soldier. He stance, however, told Lavellan that this person was military-trained, perhaps a defector who wished to join the Inquisition? No, a defector would never be in possession of armor like that. A hired sword of some sort? Odd that one would seek out the Inquisition though.

"State your business." Lavellan spoke as she crossed her arms.

The man hesitated. "I think it would be better if I spoke to someone in charge."

"Haven is a very distrusting lot. I'm surprised you were even let through the gates, wearing unfamiliar armor like you are." Lavellan drawled. She would have Cullen lecture the gate guards later. "There is a reason that no one has shown you to our leaders yet. What is your business here?"

"I am Cremisius Aclassi with the Bull's Chargers Mercenary Company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra." The man said, squaring his shoulders.

 _Ugh… Tevinter…_ She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. "And what do mercenaries want with the Inquisition?"

"We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast." Cremisius told her. "My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If your commander would like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work."

Lavellan raised an eyebrow at that _._ _Mercenaries looking to fight for the Inquisition? I do not believe that Josephine mentioned putting out a job offer. Why would they want to fight for a so-called 'holy war'?_

"I will relay this information to my superiors." Lavellan responded finally.

The man looked like he was about to protest, but Lavellan was already walking away.

 _Mercenaries, huh?_ Lavellan mused as she walked to the outskirts of Haven towards the small house that she had made her own ever since waking up in this mess.

Well, mercenaries would certainly provide better aid than their half-trained farm boys. The Inquisition soldiers were all novices at the moment, hardly capable of holding their own in a fight. First they needed to be trained in weaponry and how to move in armor, then proper combat forms, and finally, how to fight in a unit, to make their army one cohesive machine. Hiring mercenaries could buy their men time to train, while the Inquisition was still young. If their numbers continued growing as they were, eventually the Inquisition would have enough soldiers to send the more experienced men into the field while beginners received proper training in Haven.

It was a useful premise, but the Inquisition was sorely lacking in funds at the moment. They could barely afford the combination of food, medicine, and materials as it was! Even though Josephine had been successful in a few mercantile endeavors, it would take time before such investments paid off. Of course, they could always use credit, but owing a debt to a mercenary company was unwise to say the least.

The elleth bit her lip as she clasped her hands behind her back, idly nodding at the people that passed her in the streets. Soldiers saluted – which was still a strange occurrence to her – and villagers waved or bowed their heads reverently. She noted Varric haggling with one of the merchants, and glanced Sera through a window as the elf drank from a bottle.

 _Strange how life appears normal, and yet nothing is the same._ She thought as she reached the door to her cabin.

When she entered, she kicked off her snow-covered boots and hung her coat by the fireplace to dry. That was another thing that was strange for her – a constantly roaring fireplace. Back when she lived with the clan, firewood in the winter was of vital importance, and was strictly regulated. To leave a fire burning all day was not only pointless, but simply wasteful. However, now that she was 'all touched Lady Herald', as Sera so eloquently put it, a servant was always checking up on her quarters to tend to her fire, clean the room, and sweep the floors. The lack of any chores was bewildering to Lavellan.

After holding out her hands above the fireplace, rubbing them to get feeling back into her fingers, Lavellan finally turned to the table that sat opposite from her bed. Her one personal luxury had been ordering a large map of Thedas, similar to the one that was used in the war room, and had it spread out on the large table.

Sitting on top of it was an inkwell, several quills, and a notepad upon which she wrote her 'to-do' list. If only the list was as simple as they had been in the past – groceries, supplies, delivering a note for a friend. Nowadays, the list was comprised of far more important tasks (as if saving the world was not enough!).

After jotting down a quick memo about seeing this 'Iron Bull' at the Storm Coast, Lavellan closed the shutters of her windows and stripped off her armor. She quickly checked over her equipment for any nicks or scratches, and after deeming it whole, changed into a clean leggings and a large shirt (her lack of a proper nightgown seemed to horrify her maid, much to her amusement).

Lavellan collapsed into bed with a sigh. _And tomorrow, we'll go explore the Storm Coast. Allll the way up north._

Ugh, she could feel the saddle bruises already.

* * *

 **My apologies for any grammar mistakes or misspelling. Please leave a review!**


	13. The Iron Cow?

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

Well, the Storm Coast certainly lived up to its name. Cold, biting winds whistled through the air, whipping up their hair and lashing at their cheeks. The air was cold but humid, the drizzle of rain so light that the water almost appeared to be floating down from the sky, rather than falling. When it wasn't raining, a fine mist hung in the air, clinging to their skin and seeping into their clothes. The trees were sparse here, trunks bleached white from salt and sun, with more branches than leaves, which clattered against each other in the tempestuous winds. The sun was a rare sight in this region, the clouds hanging so lowly overhead that she was sure they skimmed the tops of the mountains, perhaps even the trees. The ground was rocky, the soil sparse, making the roads slick under their horses hooves – as if the weather was not enough of a hindrance.

For this outing, Lavellan had decided to invite the latest companions to join the Inquisition: Vivienne and Sera. The two fought like cats and dogs the entire trip, which meant that there was no lack of entertainment for Lavellan and Cassandra. After several hours of navigating the coastline, Lavellan and her companions finally reached the Inquisition's outpost. She was amused and rather unsurprised to see Scout Harding waiting at the edge of the camp to greet her, her reddish-chestnut hair shining like a beacon despite the lack of sunlight.

"Your Worship!" The dwarf greeted her, ignoring the way Lavellan wrinkled her nose at her title. "For what it's worth, welcome to the Storm Coast. I would have sent word sooner, but our efforts have been… delayed."

"Delayed?" The elf responded with raised eyebrows.

"There's a group of bandits operating in the area." Harding explained with obvious distaste. "They know the terrain, and our small party has had trouble going up against them. Some of our soldiers went to speak with their leader – haven't heard back though."

Lavellan cast a dark glance back at Cassandra, whose expression was equally gloomy. And from the tone of Harding's voice, they were not the only ones who doubted that those soldiers would be coming back alive.

"Time to call in the pest control…" Lavellan hummed.

Cassandra furrowed her brows. "Pest control? For what, rats?"

"… Yes, Cassandra. Rats." Lavellan sighed. "Big, smelly rats. With swords."

"With swor – oh."

 _Oh Cassie._ Lavellan shook her head while Sera's snickering could be heard at the back of their group. Warriors were not known for their wit, poor things.

"Thank you, Your Worship." Harding responded, dipping her head.

"Please, just call me Lavellan." She insisted, not even bothering to remember how many times she had already told the dwarf to drop the unbearable title.

And like every time before, Harding just gave her a small smile and promised nothing. "Well good luck, and enjoy the sea air. I hear it's good for the soul."

The dwarf saluted, and then walked away. Lavellan turned around to look over her companions, only to find Cassandra angrily glaring at a sniggering Sera, who was hiding behind Vivienne, who was rolling her eyes.

"Cassandra, dear," Vivienne drawled. "Don't be angry at Sera for your own lagging wit. Even if the little elf deserves a good whack or two."

"Shut up, mage!" Cassandra growled.

"Oi!" Sera whined from behind Vivienne's robes. "Wha's that for? Who's side ya on?"

"My own." The mage retorted as she tweaked her wrist and her staff whacked Sera on her head, making the elf yelp. " _That_ was for attempting to untie my robes just now. And for the record, they are also magicked shut."

Sera leapt out of smacking range of both Cassandra and Vivienne, rubbing her head with a mulish expression. "Ya both got sticks up ya arses!"

"Alright ladies!" Lavellan walked into the middle of their standoff. "Go find a tent to dry off, and cool off those attitudes while you're at it. We're scouting the area in an hour, so don't relax too much."

Immediately Vivienne was scouring the camp for a hot cup of tea, while Cassandra and Sera sat next to the fire in an attempt to dry their clothing (Vivienne had, of course, found a way to ward her robes against the damp and cold). Sera took off all three layers of socks and hung them over the fire pit, massaging her aching feet. Cassandra checked and double checked their supplies as she huddled by the fire. Lavellan found an outcrop of rock behind one of the tents which overlooked the coast, and so stood staring out across the landscape with narrowed eyes.

Her ears twitched at the sound of footsteps, turning to see Vivienne approaching her with two steaming mugs of what she assumed was tea (as Vivienne would drink nothing else). Wordlessly accepting the beverage, Lavellan cupped its warmth in her hands and sipped slowly.

"Didn't we come to ally with the bandits?" She asked in reference to their earlier talk with Scout Harding.

"We came to negotiate with a band of mercenaries." Lavellan corrected her. "The bandits are a different group altogether."

The mage sniffed. "They are the same thing, no?"

"No." Lavellan disagreed. "Banditry and mercenaries may be similar, but they are nevertheless different. Bandits have no honor."

"And mercenaries do?" The mage scoffed. "They are all untrained mongrels waving their swords around to intimidate the little people."

"Mercenaries are anything but untrained." Lavellan pointed out.

"It does not excuse the fact that they make money by killing." Vivienne argued.

Lavellan shrugged. "Sometimes one's skill with a sword is their only livelihood."

"Surely not!" Vivienne scoffed again.

"Mine is." Lavellan turned her head to lock eyes with the mage. "We do what we must in order to survive. Not everyone is willing to live in poverty for the sake of adhering to morals."

The enchantress regarded her with critical eyes, lips pursed disapprovingly. Lavellan returned to her tea with a shameless shrug, dipping her tongue into the liquid to test the temperature before taking a sip. Finally Vivienne huffed, and Lavellan did not bother to glance her way as she heard the woman stomp away.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

Not long after her chat with the mage, Lavellan was ordering the women to suit up and head out. They scoured the crags and hills, avoiding the roving groups of bandits but noting their movements on the map to triangulate where their headquarters might be located. This caused no small amount of frustration for Cassandra, who would have rather pick a fight with every bandit until one of them gave up the information. Meanwhile, Sera complained about her sore feet, Vivienne complained about the rainy weather, and Cassandra griped at them both to shut up.

 _Dammit._ Lavellan thought to herself. _Next time I'm bringing the guys. At least they are less talkative._

Eventually the loud yammering of her three companions drew the attention of one of the bandit groups. Men in shoddy armor and painted faces jumped out from behind tree trunks and dropped down from their branches, surrounding them.

"'Bout time we see some action, yeah!" Sera jeered with a grin, notching an arrow and taking aim, flexing her fingers and making the leather wraps on her hands creak in response.

"Ah, good," Vivienne hummed, "I needed to let off some steam."

"Finally…" Cassandra muttered as she unsheathed her sword.

Lavellan shook her head at them, faintly amused. The battle was over quickly, the bandits soon outclassed by a hail of Sera's arrows, the brunt of Cassandra's anger management, and one of the most powerful mages in all of Thedas (which Vivienne took care to remind them every hour or so). Lavellan almost felt unneeded as they took care of the majority of the bandits without her – apparently their internal arguing was good fuel for their battle rage.

 _The secret weapon of the Inquisition,_ Lavellan thought idly as she shanked a bandit that came too close. _A good cat fight._

Beheading another unfortunate sod, she glanced up, waiting for the next man to strike, only to meet the eerie stillness that always signaled the aftermath of a battle. To her left, Cassandra was cleaning her blade, and to her right Vivienne was pretending to brush off dirt from her robes (as Lavellan was well aware that the mage had also warded her clothes against dirt and blood as well). Sera was going around the bodies and checking their pockets as she retrieved her arrows.

"Sera, dear, must you really?" Vivienne cringed as the elf picked up a severed head in order to pick the man's earrings. The mage turned around to complain to their fearless leader, except –

"Lavellan! What the _blazes_ are you doing?!" She nearly screeched.

The other elven companion glanced up with an innocent face, large dark green eyes blinking in confusion.

"What?" Lavellan glanced down at the finger she was half-way finished cutting off. "Oh this? The ring won't come off – and it has a sapphire in it!"

Sera snickered on the other side of the mage.

"Robbing the dead is the lowest form of thievery!" Vivienne protested, looking faint. The enchantress turned to give an imploring look to their warrior companion, but Cassandra just shrugged, although her expression showed her clear distaste for the actions of the two rogues.

"I've already argued with the Herald – "

"Lavellan!"

" –over the subject before." Cassandra told the mage dryly. "As you can see, I was not victorious."

Sera snickered louder at that, pocketing the earrings of the head she had been pawing at. Vivienne cringed as Lavellan's knife scraped the finger bone, and she quickly snapped the bone and continued to cut through the other side. With the finger now unattached, our lovely heroine was able to slip off the sapphire ring and gave an approving glance at the quality of the stone.

"Hey nice catch! Look what I got!" Sera praised as she walked over, and then held up her gold hoop earrings.

Lavellan smirked in response.

"Despicable." Vivienne shook her head.

"Aw, don't be like that Miss Fancy-Pants!" Sera chuckled as she suddenly appeared next to Vivienne, chin on the woman's shoulder, holding her prize in front of the mage's face.

Vivienne reeled back and shoved Sera away from her. " _Why_ are you touching me?! You were manhandling a severed head not a second ago!"

" 'S just a head…" Sera whined like a child.

Now it was Cassandra and Lavellan snickering at the two.

When the afternoon rolled around, they decided to start heading back to camp, knowing that the light would fade faster with the clouds covering the sky. The group followed the coastline, as opposed to the mountain trails they had explored earlier in the day.

The coast was just as miserable as the bluffs. The beach was made of sharp rocky pebbles instead of sand, just as grey as grey and unwelcoming as the sky above. The wind was worse without the hills to block it, forceful gales skimming off the surface of the ocean and slamming into their bodies, spraying salty water and screeching in their ears. As if the winds did not drench them enough, the ocean also took part, waves crashing against the shoreline with abandon, breaking on the rocks and splashing the company with globs of murky water.

They soon approached the hill which led towards their camp, and Lavellan was about to let out a sigh of relief, when once again, fate intervened. The sounds of conflict reached her sensitive elven ears, the clash of blades and yelling voices only barely discernible over the howl of the wind. She paused and glanced over to Sera, whose ears were also perked, and the two elves shared a meaningful glance.

"Oi." Sera said loudly, earning the attention of their human comrades. Cassandra and Vivienne turned around, having walked ahead as they were unaware of the elves pausing.

"There's trouble." Lavellan told them, jerking her chin in the direction of the noises. "Fighting; not much farther down the beach."

"And too close to the camp for comfort." Cassandra agreed, unsheathing her sword and lifting her shield.

They continued down the beach for another minute before the mist lifted to reveal the battle they had been searching for.

A ship was wrecked upon the beach, fresh from the looks of it. Men in two different uniforms were fighting: The first group were obviously Tevinter, judging from their uniforms and those god-awful helmets that made them look like fucked up unicorns. The other group was a trained force of some kind, with well-made armor bearing matching sigils and fighting with the skilled teamwork of a well-trained unit. Among them, towering over all the other players on the field, was a qunari swinging around a battle axe that was probably larger than Lavellan's whole body.

 _Ho-ly fuck._ Lavellan couldn't help but take a moment to stare. _They get even_ _ **bigger**_ _?! I have never seen a qunari that big before!_

Whatever god was out there, please don't let him be an enemy!

Cassandra let out a war cry as she rushed past, interrupting Lavellan's thoughts. The rogue shook her head and pulled out her daggers, falling in step behind Cassandra, slashing the necks of all those who were knocked down by the warrior's attacks.

She glimpsed the ridiculous helmets worn by Tevinter knights, and Lavellan couldn't help but grin. Killing Tevinters always brightened her day. An ice spell shot past her, and Lavellan followed it towards its target, shattering the recipient of Vivienne's attack not a moment after he had frozen.

"Bees!"

At Sera's cry, they immediately backed off, watching as a deceptively jolly green colored jar sailed overhead and crashed into the rocky ground next to a group of Tevinter warriors. Buzzing filled the air as the glass shattered, and the Tevinters screamed in panic and confusion at the unusual weapon. Lavellan glanced beside her as Sera came to stand next to her, the two elves watching her handiwork with wicked smirks.

"Gotta hand it to you," Lavellan told her, "That's a very effective weapon."

"Effective's one way ta put it." Sera grinned darkly. "Heh, look at the buggers run! Ha, get it? Buggers?"

Lavellan rolled her eyes. "You're hilarious." She drawled as she jumped back into the fray.

"Oi! That better not be sarcasm!" Sera yelled after her as she went back to raining arrows.

The battle did not rage on much longer than that. It only took a few minutes for them to realize that the men in uniform were not attacking them, only the bandits were, so the Inquisition company let them be. As the battle dwindled, Lavellan withdrew from the fight, studying the uniformed men while they were still preoccupied with the remaining Tevinters.

 _Why do those uniforms seem familiar?_ She thought with narrowed eyes. Ugh, she had come across so many mercenary companies in her time that they tended to blur together. Hold on… Mercenaries plus the Storm Coast… _Oh! The Iron Cow!_

Or something like that.

"Chargers!" The giant qunari yelled as the last enemy fell to his axe. "Stand down!"

Instantly the uniformed men relaxed their stances and put away their weapons, immediately accounting their wounds and tending to them.

"Krem!" The qunari continued, obviously the leader of this company. "How'd we do?"

"Five or six wounded, chief. No dead." A familiar androgynous voice indicated the soldier that Lavellan had spoken with in Haven.

"That's what I like to hear. Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks."

 _They're drinking here? Now?_ Lavellan was astonished but found herself amused. The qunari finally glanced over towards her and her companions, eyeing them as he walked over to speak with her.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

 **Iron Bull POV**

"So, you're with the Inquisition, huh?" Iron bull asked the group which stood awkwardly off to the side of the impromptu battlefield, waiting to identify their leader by whomever spoke up first.

He had been expecting the tall woman wielding the sword and shield combo to step forward, but instead one of the elves stepped forward, much to his surprise.

"Yup." She drawled, popping the 'p'.

"Glad you could make it." He nodded to her. "Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming."

She turned to glance at her companions, the elven archer already gladly accepting the alcohol, while the mage and the shieldmaiden turned up their noses with the prickly air of nobility. With a chuckle, he led her to a few of the surviving containers which managed to stay intact despite the rocky landing of the boat. The qunari sat down on one of the boxes, accepting a pint from one of his soldiers before hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees as he looked up at her.

"The Iron Cow, I presume." The tanned elf drawled as she remained standing.

He choked on the ale, pounding on his chest to clear his throat. When he had regained some of his composure, he looked up at her with one wide eye, staring at her as if he couldn't decide if she was joking or just completely daft.

 _Please tell me she's joking_. Iron Bull thought, idly wondering if this elf was the so-called 'Herald', and if so, the world was truly doomed.

She merely gave him a small, fake little smile.

He still couldn't decide if she was kidding or not.

"It's 'The Iron _Bull.'_ " He finally corrected her. The lack of any change in her expression meant that he still could not tell whether she had been joking.

"Oh, my apologies." She murmured in a demure voice, but her eyes told him that she was smirking on the inside.

 _Elves._ Iron Bull thought ruefully. _Cheeky little fuckers._

"I am Banal'ras Lavellan." The rogue turned as his lieutenant approached them, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the ale mug in his hand. "Oh! How lovely!"

She accepted the pint as daintily as a noble lade accepted a bouquet of flowers, as strange as the comparison was.

 _Why do I always have to deal with the crazy ones?_ The qunari lamented.

"I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant." He motioned towards the young man (Woman? Ugh, the gender-issue shit is so confusing. Er, the gender-neutral character. The woman who identifies as a man. Not that it matters because it what's on the inside that – y'know what, fuck it).

Her green eyes glimmered like dark emeralds above the rim of the mug as she carefully sipped the alcohol. "Oh, but you can just call me Lavellan." She remarked off-handedly.

"The one known as the 'Herald of Andraste', correct?" Iron Bull asked her.

For some reason, Krem choked on his ale when she nodded.

" _What_?!" He glared and pointed at the elleth accusingly. "You pretended to be a normal soldier!"

Iron Bull raised his brows at this, amused at Krem's reaction and wondering what exactly the story behind that one was. The woman snickered into her mug.

"Oh, did I?" She asked airily, staring up at Krem with those big gem-like eyes that Iron Bull was sure had misled many a man into doing her bidding. "I don't remember anyone asking for my rank."

"But you-! I mean-! Why you-!" Krem spluttered, before managing to get a hold of his tongue. "What happened to ' _Haven is distrusting, we will not show you to our leaders'_ and ' _I will relay this to my superiors'_?!"

Lavellan smirked. "Oh that? That was just me making sure you were not an assassin."

"A _what_?!" Krem exclaimed. "Do you really expect an assassin to walk right up to you and start chitchat?!"

The elf shrugged. "Or it could be that I just like fucking with people. Take your pick, honey." She gave them a devilish smirk.

 _She's definitely crazy._

"Krem, what's the report?" Iron Bull interrupted them before the situation could escalate.

His voice interrupted Krem's building ire, the lieutenant whirling around to face his captain and snapping into a salute. "Throatcutters are done, sir."

"Already?" Iron Bull frowned. "Have 'em check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away – no offense, Krem."

"Wait."

They both froze as Lavellan interrupted them. Her eyes were scanning the bodies around them, before zeroing in on one of them. She lifted her hand and pointed to it.

"He's alive." She told them, gesturing to one of the Tevinter bodies. "But barely. _Don't_ kill him."

"What? Why?" Krem asked, still glaring at her.

"Have someone stitch him up and we'll take him back to Haven." She ordered them as she took another sip of ale. "I have some questions for him."

"Tevinters don't talk, lady." Krem warned her even as he waved Stitches over.

Lavellan once again smiled innocently, which did not sit well with the cold aura that she was emanating. "Then I'll just ask nicely."

Iron Bull and Krem shared equally confused and dubious looks as she called over the shieldmaiden and murmured in her ear. The gruff-looking woman nodded at whatever order the elleth gave her, turning to follow Krem and Stitches towards the apparently semi-living Tevinter.

"So, you've seen us fight." Iron Bull spoke as Lavellan returned her attention to their conversation. "We're expensive, but we're worth it. And I'm sure the Inquisition can afford it."

"You know, I really hate that word. _Expensive_." The elleth sighed as she leaned on one leg and put a hand on her hip. "I always hear that every time I go shopping and it really puts a damper on my mood."

"It wouldn't cost you a cent, personally." He informed her. "Your ambassador – what's her name? – Josephine. We'd go through her and get the payments set up. Gold will take care of itself, don't worry about that. All that matters is that we're worth it."

Lavellan hummed as she tapped her chin. He didn't understand why she had to think it over so long – surely she could just allow her ambassador to worry about finances? After a couple minutes, she began to slowly nod.

"Alright, Iron _Bull_." She responded. "I'll let Josephine handle this. Just pray that she keeps me away from the receipt – I am notoriously cheap, and if I see too many zeros I might cry."

The qunari chuckled. "Don't worry. You can be sure you're getting bang for your buck." He stood up to his full height, unashamedly flexing his impressive physique. "You're not just getting the boys. You're getting _me_. You need a frontline bodyguard, I'm your man. Whatever it is – demons, dragons – the bigger, the better."

Lavellan smirked at that, her eyes shamelessly ogling his muscles, all shiny in the wet mist. "Bang for my buck huh?" She licked her lips and smirked.

Iron Bull chuckled at that. "Now _that_ is still up for negotiation."

She sighed dramatically. "It's too bad I have a rule about not associating with men under my command." Lavellan chuckled. "Although the eye-candy will be well appreciated, I assure you."

"I can respect that." Iron Bull nodded.

Lavellan was about to rejoin her companions when he called out to her again.

"There's one other thing." He spoke in a warning tone. "Might be useful." He shrugged. "Might piss you off."

She turned to him with a vaguely curious expression.

"Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?" He asked her.

The elf was still for a moment, blinking once, twice, before her gaze turned cold and her eyes narrowed on him with the ferocity of a hawk zeroing in on its target.

" _You better be shitting me._ " She growled, and the qunari had a feeling it wasn't a question, and so kept quiet until she spoke again.

"And why should I not kill you now?" She drawled with deceptive ease as her hands rested on her hips, ready to reach for her blades at the slightest sign of attack.

"The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere." Iron Bull explained, somewhat bewildered at her knowledge of his affiliation. It was unusual to meet people familiar to Qunari titles this far south and west. "I've been ordered to join the Inquisition; get close to the people in charge and send reports on what's happening."

She continued to glare at him.

"But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais." The qunari quickly added. "You sign me on, I'll share them with your people."

Her expression stared at him coldly, dark green eyes studying him face for any tells. He had to admit, her poker face was pretty good, and he idly wondered how good she was at Wicked Grace.

"I don't like it." She finally spoke, her stance easing somewhat as she crossed her arms. "But I have the Inquisition to think about. And the benefits of hiring your company far outweigh your questionable allegiance."

"Questionable?" He furrowed his brows.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You are playing the double-agent here, Mister Iron Bull."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the look on her face made him pause.

"Fine." She sighed and shook her head ruefully, before locking eyes and giving him a severe look. "But I want all your reports to go through Leliana first. If I find out that you attempted to circumvent this, you and your men will be executed. Do you understand?"

Iron Bull was caught by surprise at her words _. Scary as Tamassran, that one, with as many faces as an Orlesian noble._ But he still nodded in accordance to her demands.

"Krem!" He yelled over his shoulder. "Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!"

"What about the casks, chief?" Krem asked and failing to mask the whining tone. "We just opened them up. _With axes._ "

"Oh dear." Iron bull heard the elleth comment behind him.

"Find some way to seal 'em. You're Tevinter, right? Try blood magic." He drawled as he began walking towards his men. Turning to glance back at Lavellan he said, "We'll meet you back at Haven."

"Make sure you properly ask for whoever's in charge, hm?" She snickered under her breath.

 _Women are crazy._ Iron Bull thought to himself as he watched her join the rest of her companions, the warrior hauling an unconscious Tevinter on her shoulder. The other elf girl was currently giggling as she drew all over the Tevinter's face. _And elf women are the craziest._

* * *

 **Okay everyone! That's the last chapter for the re-edit. From here on out it will be new material! Yay!**


	14. One beard to rule them all

**I'm sorry** **I'm sorry** **I'm sorry** **I'm sorry** **I'm sorry!**

 **I meant to update this much earlier and just... life happened. I've been in another country for the past couple months, college is killing me, and just UGH.**

 **But I'm back. Sorry to all my readers about taking so long! Here's a nice long chapter to make up for it!**

* * *

" _You never told us your name, young one." The Keeper gazed at the outsider with questioning eyes._

" _Don't have one." The strange elf grunted, wincing at the wound on her side._

" _Surely you do?" The Keeper eyed the young woman speculatively._

 _The young woman sighed as she leaned her head back, staring at the darkening sky, lit red at its edges from the flames of the sun and fire._

" _I lost it."_

 _._

 _._

 _._

She woke with a start, her body jolting into wakefulness. She panicked for a second, not recognizing the tent over her head and the smells that surrounded her. But then she remembered where she was, _who_ she was.

 _The Inquisition._ Lavellan thought, shaking her head to rid herself of her dreams. It was not unusual for her to have vivid dreams, although most nights they were nightmares. Exiting her tent, she gaze around the camp, which was still and silent given the early hour. It was dawn, the usual time that Lavellan woke up, but she knew that her companions would probably take another two hours or so to wake. Cassandra would wake first, about half an hour from now, her military training ensuring that she woke up exactly on the seventh hour of the morning every day, even without a formal clock or Chantry bell tower to count the bell tolls. Then Vivienne would awaken around an hour from then, and scour the campsite for tea. Finally came Sera, who would probably sleep all day if she could. Lavellan usually just tipped her out of her sleep roll, as anything other than a hard shove would fail to actually get the elleth out of bed.

Camped not too far off was _The_ Iron Bull and his Chargers, who were accompanying them back to Haven from the Storm Coast. Both Lavellan and Sera were a little peeved at the extra baggage, as larger parties travelled slower, but Vivienne was glad for the more sedate pace, while Cassandra was just happy to be around other warriors again. Their Tevinter prisoner was bound and gagged, thrown off to the side of the camp and relatively forgotten, except for dinnertime when Iron Bull reminded someone to feed him.

In the quiet of the early morning, all sound was multiplied. Her pointed ears twitched, catching the rustle of wind through the leaves, the buzz of insects, the sniffle of a squirrel in the treetops… the sound of cloth shifting and steps approaching her.

Glancing down, she noticed the giant shadow that was steadily nearing her position, two large horns pointing out from the head.

"Iron Bull." She greeted, turning and craning her neck up to greet him. _Note to self: have him sit down for long conversations, cause I can already feel my neck cramping._

"Herald." He nodded at her. "You always get up this early?"

"You noticed, huh?" She asked rhetorically.

"Hard not to." He replied. "We'll be approaching the road into the Frostbacks soon. My men don't have horses, so your group is gonna have to slow down some more –"

"That will not be a problem." Lavellan interrupted him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I still have business to attend to in the Hinterlands, and the road we are on now continues to the Crossroads. When we reach the base of the mountains, you and your men will be going on to Haven without us. Oh, and make sure Leliana receives our Tevinter package."

Iron Bull kept his face impassive, mulling over her words. "I see. But what if my group gets lost?"

"Just follow the giant green hole in the sky." Lavellan drawled with a wry tone before giving Iron Bull a reassuring pat. "Don't worry, Leliana's people probably already know who you are, since they've been trailing us for the past week. They'll show you the way."

"We're being followed?!" Iron Bull exclaimed in surprise, glancing around as if the spies in question would appear out of thin air.

"On and off again. They're just keeping tabs on us." Lavellan nodded, ignoring the qunari's worry. "Leliana is such a worrywart sometimes."

"Herald." Iron Bull growled. "You better not be messing with me."

Lavellan kept her expression neutral, carefully disguising her amusement. "Does something bother you, Iron Bull?"

"My men and I are trained to keep our trail clean." He crossed his arms in dissatisfaction. "We would have noticed if we were being followed."

"Leliana's people are very good at what they do." Lavellan told him. "Don't let it worry you, they are on our side."

"It still gives me goosebumps." Iron Bull muttered. "Do you realize how paranoid I'm gonna be for the rest of the trip now?"

For the rest of their trip with the Chargers, she took great pleasure in watching Iron Bull jump at every snapping twig, earning himself annoyed glares from several of his men. He, in turn, glared at Lavellan, who was doing nothing to hide her smirk.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

"Tell me again why we are returning to the Hinterlands?" Sera's whine carried over the party as they crossed into the sprawling valley, leaving the Chargers to go on to Haven by themselves.

"Whining is not becoming of a lady, Sera." Vivienne immediately chided the elf. "Besides, if the Inquisition is to succeed in its endeavors, having the Grey Wardens on our side is a grand idea. The organization has gained quite a bit of grandeur since the Fifth Blight. When the Grey Wardens speak, all of Thedas stops and listens."

"Yeah, that's great, but that doesn't soothe the pain in my arse." Sera snapped irritably, then directed her voice to the front of the line, "Lala, can we take a break? Pleeeease?"

"Not if you keep calling that stupid name." Lavellan griped. Sera wasn't the only one who was getting grumpy after the last week of travel.

"Aw, but I like that nickname!" Sera giggled, "Varric will too, I think."

Lavellan twisted around in her saddle to face the other elf and hissed, "Tell Varric and I will _eviscerate_ you!"

By now Cassandra had had enough, realizing that she was likely the only one with a level head at the moment. "Enough," She made a calming motion with her hands, "Let us take a small break and try to regain some composure, hm?"

The other women readily agreed, finding a small clearing and dismounting their horses with various grunts and groans. Sera slid off her horse and collapsed on the ground like a wet noodle, muttering angrily under her breath as her old pony ambled away from its crippled rider without a backwards glance. The other three dismounted with much more grace, Vivienne sliding off her horse as gracefully as everything else she did, while Lavellan and Cassandra dismounted with a soldier's precision, methodically relieving their horses of some of the heavier equipment before allowing them to wander and graze on the grass.

The four sat in a loose circle together, Sera pulling out a bag of snacks that she had started carrying with her at all times and tearing into something that might have been taffy. Cassandra and Vivienne also pulled out a snack and their canteens, thought they should much more restraint than Sera. Lavellan wandered away from the clearing after telling her companions that she was going to answer nature's call.

 _Ugh, attempting to take a piss in leathers is disgusting._ She thought grumpily as she struggled with the ties on her armor. The wind picked up, blowing her hair in her face for good measure, making the elf splutter as a whole lock of hair blew into her mouth. She spat it out in frustration, hands flying to her head as swiped away the various strands of raven hair that had come loose from her braid. The wind changed direction, and she turned to face it in order to help pull away the loose strands… and froze.

Lavellan lifted her head slightly, flaring her nostrils as she sniffed the wind. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up at attention, her eyes narrowing. She couldn't name what it was that she had scented, but she trusted her body's instincts. Something on the wind was making them go haywire. Dark green eyes scanned the woods carefully as her brain attempted to name whatever was bothering her. It couldn't be predators, creatures like cougars and wolves hunted at dusk, it was still the middle of the day, and a bear would be too big to miss.

She sniffed the air again and caught a whiff of something… familiar, and yet not. Something that she knew she had smelled before, but she couldn't name where, and just faint enough that she could not say which direction it was coming from.

Lavellan carefully moved forward, slowly sinking into a crouch in order to prowl through the underbrush. Something in the air seemed to relax, as she slowly felt the tension in her shoulders ease. Whatever it was, it was gone. Still alert, the elf did not stand up just yet, but continued through the brush carefully and quietly. She noticed imprints in the soil at one point, but nothing that might have been a definitive footprint.

A frown marred her face as she reached down to lightly brush her fingers along the indents, scanning the plants around her for any broken twigs or stray hairs.

 _It could just be an old print of an animal…_ She thought to herself, _Then again, the best spies wear soft leather foot wraps that hide the shape of their feet. That would make the same mark._

Lavellan got on her hands and knees and carefully leaned down to the ground, ears twitching as they kept tabs on her surroundings. She got close enough to the soil that her nose barely skimmed the earth, and then inhaled as deeply as she could. All she smelled was the earth and nothing more. Finally, Lavellan stood, and after one last careful look around the area, and walked back to her companions, deciding that she could at least hold it in for another hour or so.

Still, she couldn't shake the tingly feeling crawling up her back, telling her that something was amiss.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

Upon their return to the Hinterlands, the company headed straight for the Crossroads, making for the camp that was stationed on the hillside overlooking the town. After a brief break wherein Sera and Lavellan took naps, Vivienne mixed a couple more potions, and Cassandra went down to the town and restocked supplies, they all regrouped and began searching for the elusive Grey Warden.

Judging from the rumors that Cassandra had picked up while she had been at the Crossroads, the Warden had been wandering around the entire valley for a while, going from village to village and setting up small militias to help protect the civilians from the civil war and the bandits that attempted to take advantage of it.

As admirable as that was, it had Lavellan puzzled. Grey Wardens, despite their relative popularity with the common folk, were not known for their charity. They were not a police force, and other than the Blight, they usually kept to themselves. Grey Wardens had no reason to be taking a stand in the Mage-Templar war, nor did it make sense for them to waste time and money funding civilian militia unless they were planning on recruiting. And if Lavellan remembered correctly, the Right of Conscription was reserved only for emergency cases (she had read the story of the 'Hero of Ferelden' too many times to count as a teenager).

"Ugh, we've been looking for this guy all day!" Sera muttered as she jiggled her legs in boredom, making the pony beneath her snort and shake its head.

"Sera, still your legs." Lavellan reminded her. "You don't want to accidentally signal the horse into a gallop."

Sera immediately ceased her movement, face paling as she clutched the reins and eyed her horse warily. Luckily for her, the pony was an old and lazy thing, and easily ignored her unconscious gestures. The city elf was no fan of animals, and riding a horse was definitely _not_ her forte.

"We've searched over half of this valley already," Cassandra sighed, for once being sympathetic to Sera's impatience. "And we've visited every village we could think of."

Lavellan nodded as she reached up to rub her nose, inwardly cursing the pollen in the air. "Let's head back to camp for the day." She said, slowing her horse down and angling it back towards the valley center to return to the Crossroads. "We'll search the northern half of the valley tomorrow."

Fate always did have a good sense of irony, though Lavellan was highly unamused when they neared their camp and her sensitive ears heard a drill sergeant in the distance. Glancing over at Sera, whose pointed ears were also twitching at the unusual sound, the two elves signaled their human companions to be quiet and followed the sound of the voice.

As it turned out, the Grey Warden they were looking for was literally in their backyard. Lavellan gave a huff of exasperation as she reigned her horse to a stop on the other side of the lake, eyeing the prominent griffon crest displayed upon the man's chestplate.

"This is ridiculous." Vivienne huffed.

"You've got to be joking…" Cassandra growled.

"He's been here the whole time?!" Sera groaned, grabbing a fist-full of her hair and tugging it as she slumped over her horse in frustration.

 _Why do you do this to me?_ Lavellen thought as she looked up at the sky, sighing as she dismounted and began to cross the bridge leading to the other side of the lake. She heard Cassandra and Vivienne dismount behind her, while Sera remained seated.

"I ain't the one doin' the talkin'." The cranky elleth said as she made herself comfortable on her horse. "So I'll just wait here."

Lavellan shrugged her shoulders, leaving Sera to catnap (on a horse of all places) as she stepped off the bridge and headed towards the fisherman's shack where the Grey Warden was teaching a couple farm boys how to hold a shield while simultaneously holding a sword. Easy right? Wrong. Somehow, these boys made it look as if using two hands at once was some sort of complicated equation.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise behind her, no doubt wincing as one of the boys flailed his axe around like he had every intention of cutting off his own hand. Lavellan glanced back and snorted at the constipated look on the Seeker's face.

"Remember how to carry your shields," The Warden scolded as he approached one of the young men and adjusted his arm up. "You're not hiding, your holding."

Lavellan waited a few more moments until the man pulled away from his students, allowing them to continue their practice. As he stepped back, she called out.

"Grey Warden?" His head popped up faster than a mole from its hole. "Warden Blackwall?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, which took her by surprise, though thinking about it, the Grey Wardens were always a paranoid bunch. Also, she didn't have the right to talk either, being just as suspicious about new people.

"You're not – How do you know my name? Who sent –"

Suddenly the wind whistled, Lavellan's ear twitching just in time to register an arrow flying towards them. She stepped back to avoid it, but instead the Warden lifted his shield and took the hit with ease. Cassandra and Vivienne whirled around, one pair of hands flying to their weapon and shield while the other pair began to glow with magic.

"Bandits?" Vivienne asked in confusion.

 _So close to our camp and the Crossroads?_ Lavellan furrowed her brows as her hands closed around the pommel of her blades. _How did they get past the Inquisition patrols?_

"Help or get out." Blackwall growled. "We're dealing with these idiots first."

"Well it's not like I'm gonna stand here and let them attack me." Lavellan drawled, already twirling her daggers in her hands. "And your farm boys here don't stand a chance."

The Warden took a second to give her a dirty look before he went charging towards the bandits.

 _What? It's true!_ Lavellan thought as she followed right behind him, letting him distract the first bandit they encountered as she slipped around the man and slammed her dagger into his side. The man faltered, falling to one knee just as Blackwall backhanded him with his shield.

Lavellan rolled out of the way just as another bandit attempted to cut her in half, popping back up to see several arrows appear out of nowhere and take the man's eye out. While he was busy screaming she cut his throat, then threw a smirk across the lake to where Sera was still sitting on her horse and casually notching arrows as if she were merely at target practice.

"Down!" Vivienne's voice sailed over the skirmish, and immediately Cassandra and Lavellan ducked, the elf dragging Blackwall down with her just as a wave of ice sailed over their heads and slammed into the bandits that still stood. In the next second Cassandra and Blackwall each shattered one of the frozen men, while Lavellan gave the last one a good kick in the face and knife to the head.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. Lavellan and her companions had not even broken a sweat, and neither had the Warden. His students, on the other hand, not only looked winded, but stared at the dead bodies with mute horror.

"Well that was a nice little warm up." Lavellan hummed aloud as she immediately kneeled down and began searching the bandit's pockets. Behind her, Cassandra and Vivienne gave irritated groans. One of the enemy soldiers twitched, and she quickly stabbed the man through the temple, making sure that he stayed down.

One of the farm boys threw up.

"Oooh look guys! This guy has an enchanted ring!" Lavellan's eyes sparkled like a magpie as she held it up, beckoning Vivienne over. "Can you tell what the enchantment is?"

" _Herald._ " Cassandra huffed. "Focus on our mission please!"

Lavellan hid a smirk as she stood, tossing the ring at Vivienne and approaching the Warden.

"Good work, Conscripts," The Warden was saying to the farm boys, making the elf raise her eyebrows at his address, "Even if this shouldn't have happened. They could've – well, thieves are made, not born."

Lavellan's lips thinned, but she carefully kept the rest of her expression neutral as Warden Blackwall continued his little speech.

"Take back what they stole. Go back to your families." He nodded at the bodies. "You saved yourselves."

Her brows furrowed. _I didn't think Wardens allowed their Conscripts to leave service so early? Huh._

This Blackwall was certainly an impressive figure, a bear of a man. With his thick (and admittedly luscious) beard, deep voice, and commanding stance, he was everything her younger self would have imagined a Warden to be. His armor was old and worn, but her sharp eyes could tell that he took good care of it. That earned a bit of approval from the elf; a good warrior always took care of their equipment. There were scratches and small dents in the metal parts of his armor, but the metal was well-polished, and his sword honed. A gryphon reared proudly upon Blackwall's breastplate, reminding Lavellan of her childish dreams of heroes and adventure.

A sad look crossed Lavellan's face before she shook it off and approached the man. His head snapped up at the whisper of her soft footsteps on the fallen leaves, his face shuttering closed in a guarded expression.

"You're no farmer." He said it like an accusation.

Lavellan snorted at the thought of herself planting potatoes and harvesting radishes. "Nice speech. A little too cheesy for my tastes, but your little ducklings seemed to lap it up." She gestured to the farm boys as they walked back towards the Crossroads.

"Why do you know my name? Who are you?" Blackwall demanded, ignoring her little jibe.

"Do you always greet strangers with such enthusiasm?" Lavellan drawled sarcastically as she rubbed the back of her head in an exhausted manner. His expression remained stern, clearly unimpressed. "Fine, fine. You ever hear of the Inquisition?"

His eyes lit up in recognition, brow furrowing in confusion. "Inquisition, huh? Heard you guys have the whole Chantry in an uproar." He nodded as he crossed his arms. "But I don't see how that concerns me."

"A lot of weird stuff has been going on lately, in case you haven't noticed." Lavellan said, flapping her hand in a vague manner, making the man snort at her understatement. "Templars, mages, the murder of the Divine… and, apparently, the disappearance of the Wardens. They can't all be a coincidence, don't you think?"

"Maker's balls." Blackwall muttered, swearing like a soldier (and maybe he had been, before joining the Wardens). "The Wardens and the Divine?" He shook his head. "That doesn't even make sense. The Wardens have no business with the Chantry, nor with the Templars or Mages."

"I didn't even know that Wardens were disappearing until you told me." Blackwall admitted, then shrugged his shoulders. "But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, and Wardens are the first to be forgotten."

 _I assure you, they have not been forgotten._ Lavellan still remembered the fear that gripped her heart when word had arrived from Fereldan of the Fifth Blight, the hundreds of refugees pouring into the docks from the decimated country, their eyes dark and dull with horrors she could not even imagine.

"But one thing I'll tell you," Blackwall continued, "No Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose _isn't_ political."

"We aren't blaming the Wardens just yet." Lavellan assured him. "But we can't help but wonder if it isn't somehow related. Our attempts to make contact with the Wardens of both Fereldan and Orlais have been met with silence… and given recent events, I am sure you can imagine how worrisome that is."

"I'm afraid I can't help you there." Blackwall sighed. "I've been travelling alone for months, recruiting. There's not much interest with the Archdemon a decade dead, and no need to Conscript with no Blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I 'conscripted' their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won't need me."

Lavellan exchanged a confused glance with Cassandra, who also looked a little unsure of Blackwall's methods, but opt to remain silent, for now.

"Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are – "

She could tell he was about to go into another inspiring spiel, and quickly held up her hand, silencing the Warden.

"Yeah, that's very nice." Lavellan drawled, earning herself a dirty look from both Blackwall and Cassandra. "But if that's all the information you have, then we have nothing else to talk about. Good day, Warden. And good luck hunting darkspawn!"

She gave the warrior a mocking salute before she spun on her heel and walked back over to where Sera was watching the horses, ignoring Cassandra's dramatic huff as she passed her.

"Hold a moment!" Blackwall's voice called after them, taking the elf by surprise.

Lavellan froze, one leg in the stirrup of her saddle, ready to mount, while her other leg kept her steady on the ground. Vivienne had already mounted her horse, while Cassandra paused to stand beside Lavellan.

"The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved." Blackwall began to say.

"Cut to the chase, Warden." Lavellan sighed, grunting as Cassandra elbowed her in the ribs. "If you wanna join the Inquisition, just say so. They need all the help they can get, so they aren't exactly picky. I mean, they even let Sera join!" The elleth grinned as she pointed at the elf who was currently dosing on the back of her horse.

" _Lavellan!_ " Cassandra hissed in her ear, while Vivienne sighed dramatically and Sera giggled in her sleep.

"So!" Lavellan continued, ignoring a fuming Seeker and an exasperated mage. "What're you offering me, oh great and noble Warden?"

"Not to brag, but us Wardens are damn good fighters. All it took was two Grey Wardens to stop the Fifth Blight." He huffed amusedly. "Maybe fighting demons from the sky isn't something I'm practiced at, but show me someone who is."

Lavellan raised her hand. "I am!" She grinned. Cassandra seemed to have had enough of her sass, and violently yanked on Lavellan's braid. "Ow!" Hands flew to grip her precious head as the elf scowled at the Seeker.

Blackwall's lips twitched in amusement at their antics as Lavellan then proceeded to stick her tongue out at the Seeker, making the brunette roll her eyes in response.

"Not to mention there are the Treaties." Blackwall mentioned, earning their full attention.

"I don't those are applicable during this time." Cassandra spoke up, thought her eyes shone with interest.

The Warden shrugged. "This may not be a Blight, but it's bloody well a disaster. There are some who would still honor them. Being a Warden means something to a lot of people."

Lavellan nodded at that, and then exchanged questioning glances with her two companions that were still awake. Vivienne shrugged, not really caring who the Inquisition accepted as long as it wasn't a bald, pointy-eared apostate. Cassandra nodded in return, very much in favor of allowing the Grey Warden among their ranks.

She turned back to Blackwall with a smirk. "One more warrior and the promise of a few more? How could I say no? Welcome to the Inquisition, Blackwall."

The man seemed to relax in relief, before a tentative smile touched his stern face. "Good to hear. We both need to know what's going one, and perhaps I've been keeping to myself for too long. This Warden will walk with the Inquisition."

"I'm Lavellan, the leader of this rag-tag group you see here. Let's see what we can do with you, hm?" She asked as she plastered a smile on her face.

Both Lavellan and Blackwall took a step forward to shake hands, sealing the deal, while Cassandra went to mount her horse and Vivienne clapped her hands in a near-mocking applause.

"Splendid!" The enchantress exclaimed. "Now can we _please_ get back to civilization? I still have blood on my robes, you know!"

Blackwall glanced at Lavellan with his brows raised.

"She's a drama queen." Lavellan whispered. "And complains all the time. You get used to it."

"And the sleeping elf?" Blackwall's gaze landed on Sera who was draped over her saddle and snuggled into her horse's mane.

"I think she was a cat in her last life." Lavellan hummed. "I also think she sniffs lyrium in back alleyways, but I'm not exactly sane either. But she's a damn fine archer. Now then, will you be accompanying us back to the Inquisition headquarters? Or would you like to make the trip yourself?"

The Warden shrugged. "Might as well travel with you."

Lavellan nodded. "We'll have to get you a horse, then. Lucky for you, one of our camps is not too far away from here. We can have them assign you a horse there. In the meantime, you'll have to ride with one of us."

She glanced over her company, already knowing who she would pick. "Cassandra, your mount is the sturdiest of our horses. Would you mind giving our newest ally a ride to camp?"

"As you wish, Herald." Cassandra bowed her head as she urged her mount to walk closer to the Warden.

"Wait, _you're_ the Herald of Andraste?!" Blackwall spun to stare at Lavellan in surprise.

"Alright everyone, let's get back to camp." Lavellan ignored him as she neared her horse. With that Lavellan turned to mount her horse, leaping into the saddle with ease.

Cassandra leaned down and reached out to Blackwall and holding out her hand to help him onto her warhorse. A little unsteadily, he climbed up onto her horse, settling himself behind her, pausing as he tried to decide if it would be okay to put his hands on her hips or not. In the end, Blackwall decided that it would be more polite to keep his hands on the woman's shoulders, since they had only just met.

"Hey, lazy!" Lavellan yelled as she maneuvered her horse to stand next to Sera's and kicking out to smack her boot against Sera's butt.

"Oi!" Sera yelped as she woke up abruptly, nearly falling out of her saddle as she scrambled to hold onto the horse's mane. The animal beneath her huffed grumpily and side-stepped as it shook its head, as if scolding Sera.

Both Cassandra and Vivienne chuckled under their breath.

When the blonde elf finally got her horse under control, she turned to glare at Lavellan over her shoulder. "Tha fuck was that for, mate?!" And then she immediately froze at the sight of a large man sitting behind Cassandra. "And who the fuck is that?!"

"If you were awake and alert like a proper soldier, you would know!" The Seeker huffed.

"Newsflash, piss-pants, I ain't a soldier!" Sera pulled down her lower eyelid and stuck her tongue out at the Seeker.

"Alright, ladies, settle down." Lavellan said with a faint smirk. "Sera, this is Warden Blackwall. We just recruited him for the Inquisition. And now we're taking him back to camp to get him a horse."

Sera eyed Blackwall up and down with a narrowed gaze, as if deciding whether or not she would accept him or not.

"A Grey Warden, you say?" She asked, ears twitching in thought. "Well… alright. Your kind did a lot of good in Fereldan all those years back. Even helped the Red Jennies at one point."

"The who…?" Blackwall furrowed his brows.

"Charitable thieves." Lavellan explained back to him as she nudged her horse into a brisk walk and setting off for their camp. "They steal from the rich and give to the poor, along with the occasional revenge scheme against nobles who abuse their status."

"More like petty criminals." Cassandra muttered under her breath.

Lavellan shot Cassandra a look that told her to stop talking, not wanting to listen to Sera and the Seeker bicker the entire trip back to camp. The Seeker puffed her cheeks in annoyance, but kept her mouth shut, much to the elf's relief.

 _A Grey Warden now?_ Lavellan thought to herself as the group fell into a comfortable silence, save for the crunch of leaves beneath horse hooves and the occasional bird call. _Seekers, apostates, Qunari and lowly thieves… now a Warden. What will it be next? A friendly demon?_ She almost snorted at the thought.

 _Still… poor Leliana._ The elf frowned. _We still don't have any answers about the disappearances. But… how is it all related? Templars and mages were meeting at the Conclave, so it would not be far-fetched to think that they clashed somehow and it resulted in an explosion. But where do the Wardens stand in this? As far as I know, the Wardens have always accepted anyone, templars, mages, apostates, you name it. They would not have a reason to attend the Conclave, if they were even there._

 _Even so, it can't all be a coincidence._ Lavellan absently steered her horse through the winding rocks that separated the Crossroads from the upper hills, ignoring the faint banter between Sera and Vivienne somewhere behind her. _I don't believe in coincidences. There's got to be a missing link._

For the first time in many days, Lavellan again tried to access her memories of the night of the Conclave. But once again, she was met with a blank slate. Nothing. All she could remember was climbing in the rafters above the attendees, looking down at the tense congregation of mages, templars, and Chantry officials as some old woman gave a speech that she had not bothered listening to. But it couldn't have ended there. She knew something happened, she could feel it in her bones.

What if… what if she had not _lost_ her memories? What if they were _taken_? Could she have seen or heard something she shouldn't have? Did whoever their enemy was erase her memory to ensure that they could not be found out?

 _Ugh, I'm running in circles here._ Lavellan thought with a frown. She really needed a drink.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

 **Blackwall POV**

Blackwall's whole body was tense, though he tried to relax into the rhythm of the horse beneath him. It did not help, though, that the woman sitting in front of him, who introduced herself as Cassandra Pentaghast, was a rather intimidating person. It would not surprise him if she cut off his hands if they so much as skimmed anything below her shoulders. Not to mention the little blonde elf was blatantly staring at him as if attempting to pick him apart and figure out all his thoughts. Meanwhile, the mage and the other elf – Lavellan, if he remembered correctly – were ignoring everything else, one seemingly lost in thought while the other filed her nails.

 _Orlesians_. Blackwall thought with an amused shake of his head. He knew a courtier when he saw one, although it was unusual to see a noble mage. And if he remembered correctly, Pentaghast was a noble name as well, from Nevarra if he was not mistaken.

"Pentaghast…" He began aloud, earning Cassandra's attention. "Isn't that the name of the Nevarran royal family?"

"Whaaaat!" Sera's sudden interruption was of no surprise to anyone save Blackwall. "Miss pissy-pants over here? A _princess?!_ " The elf began to giggle at the thought.

"You are correct, Ser Blackwall." Cassandra acknowledge, making the elf choke on her laughter. "I am seventy-eighth in line for the throne, actually. And I have no desire to be anywhere near it."

Blackwall gave a low chuckle while Sera was busy gawking at the Seeker, nearly falling off her pony… again.

"Y-You… What?!" Sera squeaked.

At this, Lavellan finally seemed to break from her thoughts and glance over her shoulder at Cassandra with raised brows. "My, my, Seeker. I had wondered about your last name, but I never would have believed it if you hadn't said it yourself!"

"Do not let my bloodline fool you, however." Cassandra continued, ignoring the spluttering archer. "I earned my sword and shield through battle, not titles. I am no princess."

"I have no doubt, Lady Seeker." Blackwall assured her. "I saw what you did in the fight back there."

He could not see the pleased smirk on Cassandra's lips from his position behind her, but he certainly heard the confidence in her voice when she spoke.

"Just wait until you see me in a real battle, messere." The shield maiden chuckled. "I could teach you Wardens a thing or two."

Blackwall raised his brows. "We'll see about that."

"Ooh, is that a challenge I hear?" Lavellan called from her horse, slowing it down so that she could drop back and walk next to them. "You two should make it a show for the soldiers! Show them what a real fight looks like, and lighten their mood while you're at it."

"Not a bad idea." Vivienne finally decided to interject into the conversation. "Maker knows that one of the greatest challenges that an army faces is moral. All it takes is a few dissenters before you have a serious crisis on your hands."

Cassandra nodded slowly at that, warming up to the idea. "I shall speak of it to Commander Cullen, but I am sure he shall approve."

"Speaking of our glorious leaders…" Lavellan hummed, turning to Blackwall. "You'll have to speak to Leliana when we arrive. She's our spy master."

Blackwall raised his eyebrows at that.

"She has a few friends among the Grey Wardens. When they disappeared, she asked us to look into it, which led us to you." Lavellan explained to him vaguely.

"I… see?" Blackwall said with uncertainty, but the leader of their little group was already kicking her horse forward to re-take the lead.

The Warden's eyes trailed after the elf girl. _She_ was supposed to be the famed Herald of Andraste? A Dalish elf that could still be mistaken for a teenager? Despite growing up Andrastian, Blackwall had never been a very religious person. He believed, sure, said his prayers and went to the Chantry once in a blue moon. But to think that people thought that a non-believer could be Andraste's chosen? It was… unbelievable. Not to mention the elf certainly did not act very holy.

"I see camp!" Sera's exclamation interrupted his thoughts. "Oh I hope someone there has cookies!"

"Why in the world would anyone be baking cookies at a time like this?" Vivienne scoffed.

"Ya never know, right?" Sera shot back.

Both Cassandra and Lavellan seemed to roll their eyes at the two bickering women. Blackwall had a feeling this was a common occurrence. After reaching camp, the company separated for a while, allowing the soldiers to care for their steeds while they each broke off to take care of their own necessities. Lavellan escorted the Warden to the camp's quartermaster, demanding a horse to be assigned to him for their journey to Haven in the morning. Then the elf dragged the larger man to the medic tent, informing him that every member of her company was supposed to carry a few health poultices on them, even during battle.

After that, the Herald left to take care of her own needs, leaving Blackwall to his devices as the sun set on the Inquisition campsite.

 _Everything has happened so fast._ Blackwall mused as he grabbed a plate of food from one of the tables and sat down by one of the fires. It was only that morning that he had been travelling alone through the wilderness, with no plan or destination in mind. _And now I'm part of this Inquisition._

His eyes trailed over the soldiers as they scurried around the campsite, noting that many were young and inexperienced. Probably just finished basic training too. Despite this, the camp was well-organized and sufficiently supplied. Whoever the army's commander was, Blackwall had to give the man credit. The Inquisition likely did not have many resources at the moment, but their commander certainly knew how to work with what he had.

"Oi, you gonna eat that?"

Blackwall looked up to see Sera poking her head over her shoulder, eyeing the half-loaf of bread on his plate. The Warden shook his head, and the elf snatched the bun up before he could even blink, devouring the loaf in seconds.

"Mhm…" She nodded, speaking with her mouth full. "Guh'sterf."

She disappeared for a moment, before coming back and sitting down next to him, two tankards of mead in her hands. "So, whatcha think so far?" She asked as she handed him a cup.

"It's… not bad." He replied slowly.

"Ha! Betcha I know what yer thinkin'." She shook a finger at him. "Prolly thought it's be bigger, eh? That's what I said!"

"Well, no." Blackwall took a sip of the alcohol to cover up his bewildered expression.

"Just wait 'til ya meet the others!" Sera giggled, though he doubted she was drunk this early in the evening. "We got piss-pants, that stuck-up _witch_ , a trusty dwarf, the egghead apostate, and a fuckin' Qunari! And now you! This is gonna be sooo much fun!"

Blackwall felt his eyebrows rise at the strange rag-tag group that she described.

"And, of course, we can't forget Miss Glowy!"

"Miss… Glowy?"

"The Herald, silly!" Sera leaned in as if to tell him a secret, saying, "But don't bring that up around her too much, yeah? Lala doesn't like the title much. Being elfy and all."

 _Her words… make absolutely no sense._ Blackwall thought as he nodded absently. Perhaps the Herald was right about this elf taking one to many hits of lyrium.

"Anyway, we should get some shut-eye." Sera decided as she down the last of her tankard in three gulps, impressing the old soldier in Blackwall. "Maker knows Cassandra will be screaming us awake in the mornin'. And take it from me, the more sleep ya have, the less you'll be inclined to stick an arrow in her throat. Or maybe it's just me."

And then the little elf chit was gone, like a whirlwind through the desert. Blackwall's ears were still ringing from her none-stop chattering as he found a tent with an empty cot in it. He removed his armor, feeling a little more human as he did so, and lay down in safe comfort for the first time since he had begun traveling on his own.

He had a feeling this would be the beginning of a long journey.

* * *

 **Please leave a review! They really do feed the author! Happy author means more updates!**


	15. A Moment of Quiet (filler)

**This is a filler chapter, but I tried to add some Solavellan moments. It's a slow-build romance, so nothing steamy yet, no matter how much I'd love to have them go at it *perverted grin***

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

They returned to Haven a day later, arriving early on the morning of the second day. Lavellan and her party were eager to find themselves proper beds, although the poor Herald was instantly roped into several meetings by her advisors (dammit Cassandra!). She only escaped after calling for a lunch break, at which point, she promptly disappeared.

Using her considerable sneaking skills, Lavellan managed to scale one of the cottages and leap over the tall wooden ramparts of Haven before anyone saw her, dropping down heavily on the snow below. The snow bit at her fingers as she landed on all fours, before she righted herself and tucked her fingers into the pockets of her coat. The coat she wore had been left within her cottage by one of the servants, lined with what looked like fennec fur and the hem brushing against the top of her thighs.

Despite the distinct lack of armor, her usual paranoia meant that she was still walking around in her leathers with both daggers attached to her hips underneath her coat. There was also one tucked into her right boot, pressing against the length of her calf with only the tip of the pommel visible near her kneecap. She had a bag full of supplies strapped across her back, filled with a notepad, pieces of charcoal, a few snacks, and a bottle of wine.

 _My poor ears…_ Lavellan whined internally as the wind attempted to instill frostbite upon them. As she began walking through the snow, she pulled the fur-lined hood over her head, rubbing the soft material against the points of her ears in an attempt to warm them.

Leaving Haven behind, Lavellan began walking the direction of an abandoned cottage she had found within the forest outside Haven. She had discovered the place after running an errand for Haven's potion-maker, Adan. No one had claimed the place after the events at the Conclave. Adan had mentioned that the healer who had lived there had died during the explosion, and Lavellan would guess that no one else knew about the house anymore, making it the perfect escape from the craziness of Haven.

Twenty minutes later, Lavellan had a warm fire crackling within the abandoned cottage, huddling close to the fire where the wind did not slip between the aged planks of wood. She sat on the fraying remains of a rug, the snacks and bottle of wine off to the side, half-eaten. In her lap was the notepad, and in her hand, the charcoal. What remains of the furniture is scattered within the room, the elf herself leaning back against the tabletop of an overturned table.

She felt her shoulders sinking as the tension there finally eased, the wine helping to steady her hand as she made quick, miniscule marks upon the paper, drawing with such concentration that she no longer had to fight off the constant stream of thoughts, worries, and regrets that haunted her like ghosts since she had awoken in Haven.

A male voice interrupts her, "Oh."

Lavellan shot to her feet, daggers already in hand as she spins around into a defensive stance, eyes glaring in the direction of the doorway.

 _Solas?!_ She blinks in momentary surprise before she quickly clears the expression from her face. _How the hell did he sneak up on me?_

"Herald." He greets her, dipping his head. His eyes flicker around the room as he does so, quickly taking in the fire, food, and sketchbook. "I… did not mean to interrupt."

"Why are you here?" She demands in a flat voice, her body language wary. And then, as an afterthought, she mutters, "And don't call me that!"

Solas raises his eyebrows at her defensive demeanor. "This place is usually uninhibited. I was attempting to escape the crowds at Haven."

Slowly, Lavellan lowered her arms and straightened from her fighting stance, slipping her daggers back into their sheaths. "I suppose I'll leave you to it then." She says quickly as she turns to gather her things, quickly reaching for her notebook –

But someone else snatches it first.

"You're an artist?" Solas asks as he begins to leaf through the pages. His eyes widen at the pictures within. "These are… impressive."

Lavellan scowls as she snatches the sketches from his hands. "Not to mention _private_ , Solas." She growls.

Solas blinks. "My apologies." He murmurs without inflection and with a straight face.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it." Lavellan grumbles as she tucks the drawings into the crook of her arm. The male elf opens his mouth to retort, but she holds up her hand to stop him. "Don't deny it. I can tell when you're lying."

Solas blinks again in surprise, his eyebrows rising. "Do I?"

Lavellan cocks a hip out and crosses her arms over her notebook. "Yes."

"And what are they?" He asks her with infuriating calm.

She snorts. "Like I would tell you. That would only make it easier for you to lie to me." Lavellan pauses to fix Solas with a pointed look. "And you lie to me a lot."

For once, Solas seems incapable of speech. _Wow, never thought that would happen._ She thinks with a small amount of satisfaction.

"I…" Solas was unsure of how to reply to that statement. She wasn't wrong, but it was unnerving for someone to see straight through his calm façade so easily. "Did you want an apology, then?"

Lavellan sent him a sardonic look. "It wouldn't mean anything." She responds blandly as she turns and kneels down to shove her things into the sack. A hand on her shoulder stops her. She glances up to see Solas staring down at her with an unreadable expression, before he slowly sinks into a sitting position before the fire.

"You were here first. You don't have to leave." He murmurs softly.

There's a pregnant pause as she studies him, her green gaze flickering over him as it searching for a clue as to what he was thinking, perhaps looking for one of those tells she had mentioned earlier. When she finally deigns to speak, it is soft and hesitant in a way that is very much unlike the Lavellan that Solas had come to know.

"I… I suppose we could share this place." Lavellan offers as her body relaxes. She leans back on her heels and shifts into a more comfortable sitting position like Solas', legs crossed and once again leaning against an overturned table.

Solas merely nods at this as he leans against another spare piece of furniture near the fireplace and pulls a book out from somewhere within his weird hobo clothing. They fall into a comfortable silence, broken only by the scraping of her charcoals against parchment, and occasionally the whisper of a page being turned.

Unfortunately for Lavellan, she can no longer fall into meditation as she sketches, as her mind is too distracted by the man in front of her. The female elf finds her eyes straying from the parchment far too often, instead seeking to study the mage.

Solas never really talked to anyone else in the Inquisition, as far as Lavellan could tell. She never saw him walking around the town, never saw him talk to anyone except a few medics, and she most certainly never saw him with _friends_. Did he even have friends? He was an apostate, constantly on the run from Templars, never staying long in one place. He probably had neither friends nor family.

 _How lonely_. The thought occurred to her with a momentary stab of pity – which she promptly stomped out. _Ha, as if my life is any less lonely. Secrets, secrets, secrets._

She mentally sneered at herself, forcing her eyes back down to the drawing in her hands. Lavellan frowned at the various horses the littered the page, drawn in different sizes and from different angles. Perspective was always the hardest part.

"I…" Solas' voice interrupted her inspections. "I apologize for not asking for permission earlier, but may I take a look at your drawings?"

Lavellan stares at him for a moment, wondering if she is imagining his question. _Why?_

As if he could read her thoughts Solas quickly adds, "I am a bit of an artist myself, you see."

 _Oh_. Lavellan hesitates, before giving herself a mental shrug and responds, "Only because you asked nicely."

Solas looks like he's trying not to roll his eyes at her as she hands over a few pieces of parchment that don't look too bad. She goes back to concentrating on her current sketch as he looks over the others quietly.

" I see that you prefer drawing people." He finally comments. "Although you do have a wide variety of subjects. Horses, elves, humans… and is that Iron Bull?"

" _The_ Iron Bull." Lavellan corrects him sarcastically. Solas lifts a brow at her as if to say, _I don't care._ She resists the urge to actually smile.

"I don't usually get many chances to practice with Qunari models." She explains as he passes the drawings back to her. "I don't usually hang around with them."

"What a surprise." He drawls with equal sarcasm. "And here I thought the Dalish and the Qunari were best friends."

She smirks at that. Then a strange thought occurs to her: Was Solas a city-elf or Dalish? His previous comments made it seem like he disliked the Dalish, which led her to believe that he was _not_ Dalish. But then again, Solas certainly did not act like a city-elf at all. No, he was too proud – _ha, Solas, get it?_ – and too confident. City elves were beaten down time and time again, until they knew their place. He did not seem to have much of an accent, so it was hard to place what part of Thedas he might be from as well.

"Solas."

He looks up from his book at her voice.

"Where are you from?"

She saw his brow crinkle and his mouth thin ever so slightly. _So, he's going to lie about this too._

"It's hard to say, really." Solas begins, already side-stepping her question, and she wants nothing more than to smash his abnormally shiny head with her bottle of wine (instead, she just takes a rather large gulp of it). "I've traveled to so many places, but none of which I could call home. I don't really remember where I came from –" Here his ear twitches ever so slightly and she knows it is an outright lie – "but I suppose the region known as the Dales comes closest to it."

Lavellan holds his gaze for a moment, before she breaks it by taking another long sip of her wine bottle. "Uh-huh."

"You don't believe me." He actually seems surprised.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I just know."

Solas goes silent, regarding her carefully with an expression of vague frustration.

"It's fine." Lavellan shrugged. "I can't really hold it against you. I mean, we barely know each other."

She takes another sip from the bottle and turns her face away to stare into the flickering fire. Solas nods slowly, before his gaze drifts down to stare at the book in his hands. But the words on the page turn into meaningless drivel, and once again he finds himself glancing back up at Lavellan.

"Why don't you tell me something about yourself, then?" He asks her. "An even trade."

Lavellan smirks. "So you lie about yourself to me, and I'll lie about myself to you?"

He sends her a reprimanding look, but she just chuckles.

"Alright, how about something simple, no?" Lavellan sighs as she leans back against her fallen table and rests the back of her head against it, staring up at the rafters. "Hm… What to tell you… Oh! My favorite color is bright turquoise blue."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"It's the truth." Lavellan shrugged as she held bask a snicker. "You?"

"I don't really have a favorite color." Solas muttered.

"Well pick!" She demands, channeling her inner four-year-old brat.

Solas really does roll his eyes at her this time. "I'd have to choose green, the rich green of springtime in the forest after the rain."

Lavellan snickered at that. "Wow, poetic as fuck. You just had to out-do me, huh? I say a color, you start waxing sonnets."

He rolls his eyes at her again.

 _Twice in one sitting._ _I think it's a record._ Lavellan chuckles to herself. The fire crackles and snaps, one of the logs sliding off the pile and sending embers into the air. This causes both elves to glance over and realize just how much of the wood has burned away.

 _How many hours have passed?_ Lavellan wonders with incredulity. And to think she had not even slept since the morning of the previous day! The thought is accompanied by a sudden wave of exhaustion, and she tries and fails to stifle the yawn that overtakes her.

Solas gives her an amused look as she covers her mouth and rubs her eyes. "Long day?"

"I barely have any time to sleep anymore." She admits as she begins to pack her things. "It's getting late, Solas. We should head back to Haven before they send out a search party."

He nods at this as he hides his book within his robes and pushing himself to his feet. Lavellan is surprised when he reaches down and offers her his hand. She glances up at him in a moment of hesitation before she grasps it, and allows him to pull her up. Together, they head back to the town in a comfortable silence, listening only to the crunch of snow and the whistling wind.

Lavellan determinedly ignores the tingle that lingers where his hand touched hers.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

After sleeping the rest of the day and into the next morning, Lavellan is back up and to business. She speaks to the quartermaster about requisitions and supplies for their camps in the Hinterlands, before she finds herself being dragged by Cullen to the training grounds. She spends the rest of her morning observing the status of the Inquisition's forces and speaking with Cullen about improving their training and team exercises. Then the commander practically hauls her to the Chantry where they meet with the other advisers at the war table.

"We still haven't managed to make it into Redcliffe village yet." She tells the advisers as she stares down at the map. "We've been too busy fighting off the rebel forces in the region and along the roads. The next time I head to the Hinterlands I'll make Redcliffe my priority."

Leliana places a small carved castle upon the location of the city. "My sources have not been able to enter the castle at Redcliffe, let alone get a message to its arl, Arl Teagan. This worries me."

"I might have to sneak in with the city on lockdown." Lavellan tells her. "They've sealed all the city's entrances to keep the demons out. They weren't even letting refugees in when I got there."

Leliana frowns but nods at that. Just then, a courier opens the door, quickly shuffling around the table to whisper in Cullen's ear and hand him a note, before the man exits the room just as swiftly as he had entered. They all watched the blonde man as he skims the note, his expression becoming grim.

"Bad news?" Lavellan tilts her head.

"Very." He sighs with a mixture of aggravation and defeat. "We've just lost an entire platoon of men in the Fallow Mire region."

"What?!" Cassandra gasps.

"That's not the worst of it." Cullen shakes his head. "They were captured by a band of Avvar, and are demanding to speak with a representative of the Inquisition."

"Tch, what if we don't wanna speak to them?" Lavellan mutters. "Well, I guess if they wanted to get our attention, they got it."

"We will go." Cassandra decides, and Lavellan shoots her an annoyed glance.

"And I suppose I've been volunteered as well?" The elf growled. Cassandra glared. She glared back.

"Don't you want to save our men?" The Seeker asked her in a challenging tone.

Lavellan did not answer, only growling, "I really don't like swamps. And rain. And cold."

"Herald!"

"Fine!" The elf whined under the deadly gaze of Cassandra, throwing her hands up in surrender. "I'm going."

 _Don't see why you couldn't just lead your own group…_ She thinks mutinously.

"We will head out tomorrow." Cassandra states, ignoring the strangled whine coming from the distinctly _un_ happy elf beside her. "I'm sure Leliana will send a note to her scouts as soon as this meeting it done, and they should have a base camp ready for us by the time we arrive."

They all nod at each other in a silent agreement to move on to the next task. Josephine clears her throat as she tilts her notepad and begins writing something with her quill.

"Herald – "

" _Lavellan!_ "

" – we ought to send word to your clan about your survival." Josephine completely ignores her interruption. "I was going to do it earlier, but I realized that I had no way of contacting a Dalish clan. Even with Leliana's connections, it is hard to find them if you do not know where they might be traveling. Would you please assist us?"

There was an awkward silence that followed, as they all had thought that she would immediately answer. The advisers send questioning glances towards Lavellan, who remains silent, her expression pensive.

"…No." She finally answers in a soft but hard voice. "Let them think I am dead."

They all stare at Lavellan with incredulous expressions.

"But Herald –"

"They are safer this way, Josephine." Lavellan states resolutely. "I do not want them to get involved in this. We've made many enemies in the past few weeks, and we will no doubt make more in the future."

"But they are your family – "

"Josephine." The elf levels the Antivan with a glare. "Don't."

After another stiff pause, the ambassador finally sniffs with dissatisfaction and frowns as she jabs the tip of her quill into her notepad. " _Fine._ As you will, Herald."

Lavellan nods stiffly.

"In other news," Leliana breaks the tension as she leans over the table and places another marker on the map. "I've had my people within the courts of both Orlais and Ferelden doing some reconnaissance and quietly spreading word of the Inquisition. Also, Vivienne has given me a list of Orlesian nobles that might be sympathetic to our cause."

Leliana pulls out one of the shimmering, whispering shards that Lavellan had found while adventuring through the Hinterlands. "I've also had some of my people look into the strange artifacts you found using those ocularum."

"The what now?" Lavellan furrows her brow.

"The skulls with the glowing eyes." Leliana explains. "They seem to have been made with the specific purpose of finding these 'shards', though what they are and why have remained a mystery. However, one of the researchers I went to managed to connect them to an ancient temple of some sort, located in the far western desert."

"Should we look into it?" Lavellan asked her.

"I'm not sure yet." Leliana frowned as she turned the shard over in her hand, the small silvery object catching the light and shimmering. "Once my people have a location, I'll tell you if I think it is worth investigating."

Lavellan nods at this and glances over the members of their group once more. "Anything else?"

"You and Cassandra go and prepare for your journey to the Mire." Cullen waves them off. "I'll send another retinue of men to the Hinterlands to reinforce the demon patrols."

"And I'm going to continue my negotiations with merchants for supplies." Josephine stated, not meeting Lavellan's eyes. "The merchant you contacted in Val Royeaux, Madame Belle, has been most helpful."

"And I will continue my gathering information for you, Herald." Leliana bowed her head in Lavellan's direction, making the elf wince.

"Right…" Lavellan muttered. "Well, um, meeting adjourned."

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

After the meeting, Cassandra and Lavellan both make their way to the quartermaster to order supplies for their journey, such as tents, bedrolls, and foodstuffs. Cassandra leaves Lavellan to decide who else will accompany them to the Fallow Mire, and inform them to be ready in the morning. Lavellan heads back to her cottage to pack her things as she mulls over who to pick.

She did not really know what to expect in the Fallow Mire, except the fact that it would be swampy. Cassandra was a good heavy-hitter, and she decided to bring Iron Bull along to see how well he fought in the field under her command. That made three close ranged fighters, so they would need at least one ranged fighter. So… Solas, Varric, Sera, or Vivienne? Wait, definitely not Vivienne.

 _She would kill me slowly if I made her walk through a swamp._ Lavellan thought with a wince. Then again, Vivienne's specialization with the ice element would be quite formidable in a wet place like a swamp. Everything would freeze better.

 _And what if Varric isn't tall enough to stand above the waterline?_ Lavellan smirked to herself at the mental image of Varric tagging along in a tiny boat while the rest of them walked waist-deep in sludge.

Ew. Sludge.

 _Damn you, Cassandra._ Lavellan thought as she entered her cottage and pulled out her travel pack, wondering if anyone in Haven happened to own thigh-high boots. She absolutely hated walking in wet socks. Wait – Vivienne would have thigh-highs!

 _No, they wouldn't fit anyway._ Lavellan thought to herself with a pout as she glanced at her tiny little elven feet. While they were a normal length for someone of her height, elven feet were always too narrow for human-made shoes. She'd only end up tripping and falling headfirst into the mud.

 _Knee-high boots it is._ She decided as she placed the boots next to her bed, sets her armor beside it, and begins folding a spare change of clothes into her pack.

So Varric and Vivienne were a 'no'. Sera would not be overjoyed about the swamp either. That left Solas, and considering his apostate status, he had probably traveled through worse places.

 _A human, Qunari, and two elves walk into a bar…_ Lavellan smirk to herself as she finishes her packing.

She exits the cottage and makes her way to the entrance of Haven, finding Iron Bull lingering near the large campsite that the Chargers had set up when they had reached the small town. He was talking to one of his men when she walked up, and quickly sent the dwarf away when he saw her approach.

"What's up?" He asked her with an easy grin. "You need something killed?"

"Soon enough, I suppose." She chuckles. "I've got a group heading out to the Fallow Mire in the morning to look for some missing soldiers. You think you can tag along?"

"You bet." Iron Bull responded. "The Chargers have been busy helping with the training around here, so it's not like they need me. Plus, I haven't killed something in days. I'm getting twitchy."

Lavellan surprised herself when she let out a bark of laughter, quickly quieting down to a low chuckle. Iron Bull glanced at her questioningly.

"It's nothing." She shrugged at him. "You just reminded me of someone."

"Oh?"

She nodded, but did not elaborate. Instead, she glanced towards the training fields, watching as Bull's Chargers substituted as instructors. "What do you think of our Inquisition so far?"

The Qunari followed her gaze and hummed. "Not bad, for a fledgling organization. There's still a lot to do before you can start calling it an army, but you've got the right people leading. Cullen is putting his Templar training to good use, and it will be helpful for your soldiers to know how to fight a mage. Leliana is a slippery spymaster; scary but sexy. Josephine has a way with words that can make those snobby nobles swear the sky is green. And Cassandra does a good job guiding you along the way. All in all, you've got a good thing going."

"Yes, we are fortunate to have them." She nodded. "Anyway, I have more people to see about our trip tomorrow. Until tomorrow, then."

"See ya." Iron Bull waved her off lazily as she trotted back towards the entrance to Haven.

Lavellan made her way back through the gates, past the tavern, and up to the ledge which had become the unofficial medical center. Adan's house was in the center, the scent of herbs and chemicals drifting from his windows. The other Inquisition medics had decided to move into the cottages in the surrounding area, where they had easy access to Adan's potions and stay close to their comrades in medicine. It was also where Solas had chosen to stay, taking up residence in one of the smaller cottages on the edge of the medical cluster.

She noted the smoke rising from the chimney of his house and knocked on his door politely. There was a moment of silence as she waited for him to approach the door, her ears listening for his footsteps. Then the door swung open, and she raised her eyes to meet him for the second time that day.

"Herald." He noted with a small amount of surprise.

"Nice to see you again. And my name is _Lavellan_." She sighs for the fourteenth time that day (or fifteenth? She was losing count).

"Right." He nods, correctly himself. Solas steps aside and motions for her to enter his house. "Would you like to come in?"

"This shouldn't take too long, I don't think." She shakes her head and remains at the doorway. "I was wondering if you would be up for a trip tomorrow?"

"Let me guess, it involves fighting, fighting, and more fighting?" He responds dryly.

Lavellan shrugs. "We're heading to the swampland to look for a missing platoon of Inquisition soldiers. Knowing our luck, yes, there will be fighting."

"Swamplands?"

She notes a hint of distaste in his voice. "The Fallow Mire." She clarifies with a nod. "Hopefully there will be less mages and templars, but I make no promises. You don't have to go, if you are busy."

Solas shakes his head. "I am not. I will go with you." He pauses as his eyes dart towards Adan's hut. "I trust there will be enough health potions this time? Or do I need to make some of my own?"

The small crinkle in his brow gave her the impression that he was distinctly unimpressed with Adan's performance as a medic. She couldn't blame the cranky apothecary, she knew the poor medic had a hard time keeping elfroot in stock. Still, it amused her to see the elven mage so disdainful of the man.

 _Did those two get into a fight?_ She wondered. It wasn't hard to imagine, she could already see the two men arguing over the best way to distill elfroot or something equally innocuous.

"No, no." Lavellan assured Solas. "I'm sure Adaan will have enough potions this time. Just be sure to wear some boots. You don't want nasty mud sludge getting into your shoes."

"That would be a tragedy." Solas drawled, giving her another glimpse at the snarky man behind the façade of a studious apostate.

"Wet socks are nothing to laugh at." She told him seriously. "It's one of the greatest evils in this world."

Lavellan shuddered as she thought of the sensation of wet socks, cringing as she remembered how the water would squeeze between her toes with every step. Solas looked at her with exasperation.

"Yes… horrible." He agreed sarcastically.

Lavellan scoffed. "You laugh now, but just wait until it happens to you in the marsh. Then you'll be sorry."

Solas raised a challenging brow at her as if to say, ' _Sure I will_.'

She bade him farewell and left to go speak to Master Dennet about horses for their journey. Then when that was done, she headed to the tavern for her dinner, before returning to her house and falling into a deep sleep, hoping her dreams would be kind.

* * *

 **Please leave a review!**


	16. NOPE

**Sorry that I disappeared again, my readers. I have no excuse except college, as usual. More sassy talk, party banter, and a wonderful bonding moment with Iron Bull (^_^)**

 **STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES**

* * *

"Thank you for coming, maybe you can solve this mess." Scout Harding greeted Lavellan and her companions as they dismounted their horses and headed into camp. "Our missing patrols are being held hostage by Avaar. Barbarians from the mountains."

"Wonderful…" She muttered.

"It gets better." Harding replied with a dry voice. "Their leader – He wants to fight _you_ because you're the Herald of Andraste. You know how it is between the Avaar and the Chantry."

"Didn't realize I was famous even this far South." Lavellan sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "I don't have time to argue over whose god is better." She added with a growl.

The dwarf gave her an amused look. "Getting to our troops won't be easy. The Avaar are holed up in a castle on the other side of the Mire. You'll have to fight your way through undead –"

Lavellan choked at that, making the dwarf pause.

"Wait – you're not squeamish about undead, are you?" Harding looked like she was holding back a laugh.

Lavellan didn't answer, white as a sheet and staring at her with wide eyes. Her mouth seemed to have stopped working.

"Uh, Herald?"

Lavellan promptly spun around on her heel, walking back to her horse. "Cassie, you can take care of this, I think I forgot something at Haven – ack!"

Cassandra grabbed the elf's shoulder in a hard grip and steered the Herald right back around, look unamused.

"We can handle it." The Seeker told the scout as she bodily steered Lavellan's stiff body towards the bonfire, where another soldier had already cooked up a nice hot cauldron of stew. Lavellan squeaked as Cassandra sat her onto one of the benches, the Seeker turning towards the stew to dish up a bowl for the stunned elf.

Suddenly the rogue whipped around to glare at her companion glaring through her obvious fear. "What did I tell you, Cass? It was a bad idea to come here! I mean – how do you kill something that's already dead?!"

Iron Bull's chuckle interrupted Lavellan's pending rant. "It's easy, boss. Just hit it until it stays down."

"And if it keeps getting back up?!" The poor woman's voice was getting shriller with each word. Lavellan began shaking her head in denial. "I can deal with demons. Demons can be sent back to where they came from. But undead? That's _so_ wrong on so many levels!"

" _Atisha._ " Solas murmured to her as he came to place a hand on her shoulder. "They are only corpses possessed by spirits."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?!" Lavellan shook off his hand, standing to approach the Seeker. "The undead rising is _bad._ Like, heaps of evil magic _bad_. Whatever is causing this is probably just waiting for us to waltz in there to get eaten!"

"We must rescue our soldiers!" Cassandra argued even as she pushed a bowl into Lavellan's hands.

"Then do it yourself!" Lavellan snarled. "I am _not_ going in there!"

And with that the elven woman stomped into one of the tents, taking her stew with her. Her other three companions glanced at each other, Cassandra and Iron Bull merely shrugging while Solas shook his head at Lavellan's outburst.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

Wet. Dark. And creepy.

Those three words pretty much summed up the place. Lavellan could not fathom how anyone could choose to live here, not that there was anyone left when they got to the village. She would have gladly been far, far away from this place if Cassandra had not dragged her along. The rubble that used to be houses were a strange combination of charred and soaked, the smell of death and decay heavy in the moist air – a plague. The Seeker was not surprised when they came upon a poorly dug ditch piled high with bodies in various states of rot. Some of the clothes on the bodies were scorched, but it looked as if the rain had put out the fire before it could properly burn the bodies.

"Ugh! By the Dread Wolf that smell is _sinful!_ " Lavellan gagged aloud as they approached it.

"We ought to send some of the soldiers to douse the pit in oil and set if aflame." Solas prompted, sparing a moment to give Lavellan an exasperated glance. "Hopefully it will help contain whatever disease caused all this. And it will prevent any spirits from latching onto the empty vessels."

"Good idea." Iron Bull agreed. "We should also warn the soldiers away from the village well. We can't allow anyone to bring the disease back to Haven. There are too many people there."

Their first skirmish with the undead would have amused the Seeker if she had not been so annoyed. The moment the group had stepped onto the docks the bodies rose from the blackened water, barely a trickle to sound their arrival. The details of their faces were warped by disease, rot, and the effects of being submerged in the water for so long. Cassandra was almost glad for it, as they looked more like monsters than civilians. The skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, peeling off in some places, muscle and bone peeking through the gaps, and – worst of all – various bugs and leeches could be seen feasting on the decayed flesh, nestled into gaping wounds.

"HOLY SHITFUCKS!" Lavellan screeched at a pitch so high the Seeker was sure only dogs could hear the last note.

The undead attacked. Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Solas defended. And Lavellan – the glorious Herald of Andraste, the chosen sent to save them all – turned heel and ran.

 _For the love of the Maker!_ Cassandra swore inwardly as she quickly got to work hacking and slashing. The skirmish was over in a matter of minutes, and as soon as her weapon was sheathed, the Seeker went after the rogue like a dog on the hunt.

They found Lavellan huddled inside one of the ruined houses of the village, curled into a corner in the fetal position with her eyes squeezed shut, whispering something over and over under her breath. In any other moment, the Seeker would have pitied the woman. However, she was still so enraged about Lavellan fleeing mid-battle that all she wanted to do at the moment was ring her neck!

A stormy look on her face, Cassandra took a step forward to give that rogue a piece of her mind, when she felt a large hand descend upon her shoulder. The Seeker glanced up in surprise to see Iron Bull looking down at her reproachfully.

"Let me talk to her." His deep voice rumbled, a sympathetic gleam in his eye.

She opened her mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. _I'd only make things worse in this state._ Cassandra admitted to herself.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

Lavellan felt more than heard the approach of one of her companions, but she dare not open her eyes. Instead she focused on the words flowing through her mind, whispering them under her breath.

" _In tambureggiando di cuore ho sentito dei passi tuonando; Scudo-fratelli e lancia-sorelle lontani sollevate…"_ It was an Andrastian prayer, one of the few things she remembered from her childhood. Even if she did not believe in the Maker, the prayer was familiar and calming, like an old lullaby. She used to recite it when she was hiding from slavers, praying that the Maker would somehow come to save her… not that he ever did. " _Lama a grillo-portatore, valente dello spirito_ ; _Sfolgorante come stella-shine, per combattere hanno fatto pagare – "_

She started when she felt a heavy weight land next to her, eyes shooting open to note, with surprise, that the Iron Bull had dropped down onto the dilapidated floorboards beside her, leaning against the back wall. He flashed her an easy grin, as if she had not just abandoned them to the undead not five minutes before.

There was a quiet moment between them as he leaned his head back, his horns scraping the wooden boards of the wall as he looked up to where there should have been a roof and saw only the clouds, the rooftop long gone with the rest of the cottage. Lavellan was still curled in a ball, arms wrapped around calves, staring at her muddy boots while her long ears drooped sadly.

"In the Qun," Iron Bull's voice sliced through the pitter-patter of rain, "Fear is accepted. It is natural."

Lavellan stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"But during battle, you must master your fear. Or else you endanger not only yourself, but your comrades."

She winced, but it was quickly halted when she felt his large hand cover one of her own. Lavellan glanced up to meet the Qunari's gaze. His look was strangely comforting, and dare she say, compassionate.

"It is okay to be afraid." Iron Bull told her. "But during battle, you must push it away. Imagine shrinking it and putting it in a box to deal after the battle. Lock it away and tie it with a bow."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Or… no bow." He conceded.

Lavellan let out a long sigh and pulled her hand from his, standing up slowly, tentatively. Iron Bull followed suit, but did not move to leave until she began to walk to the edges of the house's foundation, hesitating at the edge, afraid to face the wrath of Cassandra, and the silent disapproval of Solas.

"C'mon boss." The Qunari grumbled behind her. "The faster we clear this place, the faster we leave."

She nodded, steeling her resolve as her eyes hardened and her hands glided over the hilts of her daggers in reassurance. _You can do this._ The elf told herself. _You've been through worse._ Lavellan strode out of the ruined cottage, ignoring the searching looks of her last two companions.

"Let's go." She said in a steady voice, making her way back to the docks.

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

That night Solas walked the Fade again. In a place like the Fallow Mire, it was almost too easy to slip across the veil, even when he was awake. The moment he closed his eyes he found himself standing in a warp version of the world outside, where water dripped upwards, the sky was green and the souls of the undead roamed the roads, lost.

He startled when he heard a scream.

It was not unusual in the Fade, but the cry disturbed him for some reason. His curiosity piqued, Solas began walking in the direction of the scream. The paths of the Fade wove themselves in a confusing maze, but the wise elf easily traversed them. He rounded a corner, only to draw up short at the sight.

 _Lavellan?_ He felt his brows shoot up in surprise. She was younger in her dream self, somewhere in her teens perhaps, thin and lanky, dressed in dirty, worn armor and scrambling to escape a horde of undead that were chasing her.

" _Talav!"_ She calls to someone that Solas can't see in her dream as she burst through a doorway in a large, empty warehouse. _"Hanno un necromanti!"_

Solas blinked in surprise. She was speaking another language? Luckily languages were rendered moot in the Fade; the meaning of her words registered anyway. He blinks again and the dream washing over him completely.

" _They've got a fucking necromancer!"_ Another person yells as they trail behind her, sliding to a stop and spinning around to block a hit from a snarling corpse and kicking it back into the others behind it, as Lavellan yanked several throwing knives from her belt and sent them flying past the other person, hitting each of her marks precisely. There is another person on the steps to the second floor, an archer with a female body and a shadowed face. The building ripples into existence around them, details sharpening as a result of the Fade conforming to her memories. She leaps up and scales the wall expertly and leaps onto the landing of the second floor. Another figure ripples into existence beside her.

" _Well then we charge them extra."_ A man's voice states from above her, and Solas glances up to see a shadowy figure on the second floor turning away from the fight below. _"Finish the job."_

" _Are you kidding me?!"_ The young Lavellan hisses.

 _"But Master, I've never fought undead before!"_ One of her companions gulped as they were slowly pushed back by the horde piling through the entryway.

" _Then learn fast. Or don't bother coming back to base."_ The man tells them without sympathy as he disappears out of the window.

She turns and stares with wide eyes at the horde of undead scrambling up the stairs towards her position, a prayer slipping from her lips as she raises her daggers. The three fighters manage to kill most of the undead before the necromancer in question entered the room, adding their dangerous spells to the mix. The young man fell first, torn apart by hungry corpses while the female archer screeched in anger and sent a barrage of arrows to the creatures defacing his body. Then she, too, fell as the mage caught her with a glyph of paralysis and the horde descended on her.

The necromancer cackled as he then revived the two fallen warriors to join his horde, and Lavellan screamed in horror as her comrades stood back up with blank eyes and bleeding wounds, staggering towards her like puppets on a string. She let out a strangled sob as she dodged the attacks coming from her newly dead companions, but she couldn't seem to return their attacks, hesitating at the familiar faces.

Solas frowns and turns away in cowardice. He wanted to help but this was only memory, and no matter what he did, he couldn't change the past. Instead, he couldn't help but be curious about the Herald's origins, so he turns and melted through the walls of the building.

He's in a city, somewhere exotic, standing on tiled rooftops that overlook a large city that stretches until it touches the sea. It is nighttime, the moon glinting off of the tiles and turning them silver. Strange sounds and smells fills his senses, the air is tangy with spice and salt from the ocean, music floating above the city despite the late hour.

There is a gasp behind him, and he turns to see the young Lavellan haul herself out of the window, dropping heavily on the rooftop and leaning her back against the wall beneath the window pane. She's trembling and covered in blood, fighting to calm her breathing. He hears the clanking of her daggers as she allows them to drop to her side, turning her attention to her wounds. She shivers as she eyes the bite marks on her body, staring at the incisions on her arm where a corpse had sunk his teeth into her flesh and refused to let go.

 _"So the others didn't make it, hm? How disappointing."_ The shadowing man from before flickers into existence, detaching himself from the shadows of the chimney and coming to stand in front of her.

" _Never again…"_ She whimpers softly. " _Please, don't make me do that again!"_

" _You will do whatever I tell you to."_ He tells her harshly. _"Now get up."_

The dream seems to shudder for a moment, and then collapses in on itself. Lavellan must have woken up in the real world. Solas stares at the space it had been for a moment longer, before closing his eyes and exiting the Fade.

He avoids her dreams for the rest of their trip, feeling guilty for invading the privacy of her memories, and disturbed at the violence that they usually contained. It was hard to separate nightmare from reality in a place like the Fallow Mire, where the too bled together easily. The darkness that pervaded the swamp only made her nightmares worse, though she showed no sign of her exhaustion during the day.

Solas began to hand her a cup of tea before she went to her tent to sleep, insisting that she drink. He had secretly mixed it with a small dose of sleep draught, although he had a feeling she suspected as such. She never accused him, however, only flashing him a small but grateful smile.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

Their journey in the Fallow Mire was quick and not-so-clean. Aside from Lavellan's aversion to the undead, they managed to track down the Avaar and the fortress where they were holding the Inquisition soldiers ransom. The final battle was long and bloody, the Avaar living up to their fierce reputation.

Lavellan was cranky almost the entire time, and was more than delighted when more soldiers showed up to help the Inquisition hold the Mire, allowing her and her companions to finally pack up and head back to Haven.

She would never stop thanking her lucky stars for a real bed. Not just a hay-stuffed blanket, but a real mattress with the fire crackling brightly across her cabin. Lavellan sighed as she relaxed into the cushions, still wet from the bath the servants had brought for her and finally smelling like flowers and not mold and death. She was laying upside down on her bed, her long hair tossed over the edge of the bed so the heat of the fireplace could dry it faster.

For once, she was wearing something other than armor, dressed in a long tunic and loose trousers, her feet shoved into two layers of socks to combat the icy chill that still managed to squeeze through the cracks in the walls. She never wore civilian clothes, she always felt naked without armor on. Paranoia was a hard habit to break.

There was a knock on her door.

"Come in!" She called, not bothering to sit up, inching further down the bed so that her head was tilted over the edge so that she could see the door.

The door swung open and in skipped Sera. "Yo Herald, I heard about the marsh! Thank the Maker you didn't bring me, yeah?" The other elf shivered. "Dun like undead, not one bit!"

"Yeah, lucky you." She drawled, still laying upside down on the bed. "I tried to leave, but Cassandra dragged me back."

"What, our great hero and savior got a bit squeamish?" Sera teased.

"I fucking ran outta there screaming like a little bitch." Lavellan scoffed unashamedly.

The blonde doubled over giggling at the thought. "Yeah, but they'll probably tell stories of how you looked the undead in the eye and didn't even flinch!"

Lavellan chuckled. "At least the bards will save my reputation."

"Anyway, watchu say to a round of drinks, hm?" Sera asked her as she pounced onto the bed and leaned over the dark elf. "This village is so boring! I haven't shot something in a week!"

"They have shooting ranges, y'know." Lavellan pointed out.

"Something _other_ than a target." Sera huffed. "Something that moves and fights back!"

"Well don't ask me to be the target." Lavellan quickly said as she sat up and began to wind her hair into a bun. She walked over to chest and opened it, looking for a coat.

"I dinnit!" Sera stuck her tongue out. "Actually, that'd be a good idea… maybe I can get one of Bull's Chargers to do it. Those guys will do anything if you dare them!"

 _Note to self: warn Iron Bull._ Lavellan chuckled to herself as she pulled on her coat. "Okay Sera, let's see if Flissa can't get us the good ale."

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

 ** _Inquisition archives_ _: Personnel files_**

 _Subject_ _Title: Herald of Andraste_

 _First Name_ _: Banal'ras_

 _Last Name_ _: Lavellan_

 _Gender_ _: Female_

 _Age_ _: unknown; early twenties?_

 _Origin_ _: Orlesian, Dalish (under suspicion)_

 _Class_ _: Rogue,_ _Duelist, Twin Daggers_

 _Attributes_ _: Skilled at lockpicking, proficient with a bow, suspected knowledge of poisons (unconfirmed). Suspected proficiency in_ _Orlesian and_ _Antivan (unconfirmed)._

 _Background_ _: The subject claims to have been an orphaned elven child that was taken in by the Dalish clan Lavellan at an undetermined age. Since then she lived as a hunter for the tribe, forming a close attachment to several members of the tribe, most notably the Keeper, who is suspected to have been the one to adopt her into the clan. The clan is reluctant to speak about her – or just reluctant to speak to outsiders in general – but our sources say that no one in the tribe knows who she might have been before she joined the Dalish._

 _Special Notes:_ _The subject appears to have been trained well beyond the skill level of the average Dalish hunter – was she a professional fighter or soldier perhaps? Maybe even a mercenary?_

 _Most notably, the subject shows evidence of a formal education, something that is not provided among the Dalish clans to non-magical children. Her reading and writing skills are beyond anything the Dalish could have offered her, as well as any language training other than Common. The subject has also demonstrated basic knowledge in arcane and Chantry lore (also education that is not provided within the Dalish). It has to be concluded, then, that the subject was educated outside of the Dalish, and in fact, educated by someone in human society._

The sky was grey, bitter, and cold. Despite the thick blanket of snow that covered the lands surrounding Haven, the true depth of winter had yet to show its face. Soft flurries fell every few minutes or so, the wind crisp and chilly. From the wall surrounding the town of Haven, a lone figure could be seen watching the soldiers training below.

Leliana tugged her cowl tighter around her head in a vain effort to keeping her ears safe from the biting winds. Despite the myriad of soldiers sparring on the training grounds, her eyes were focused on one fighter in particular - the Herald.

The tanned elf had returned from the Fallow Mire the day prior, and was already up and training the next morning. Cullen was certainly pleased to have her and Cassandra at the training grounds this morning, eagerly putting his men through the ringer as they attempted to last even a minute against the skilled fighters.

The young elleth was sparring two soldiers at once, much to the disbelief of many. Leliana's narrowed eyes followed her curiously, suspiciously, and with great intensity, her sharp gaze easily following the sinuous flow of Lavellan's movements. The woman was quick, almost as quick as a master rogue. Her style of fighting was unusual and definitely not Dalish. The Dalish had a very distinct style of fighting, one that favored defense and dodging for a quick getaway. Lavellan, on the other hand, was very much an offensive fighter. She fought with refined movements, which bespoke of rigorous training and repetition, and the precision of her hits told Leliana that she had an intimate knowledge of the human body. When Lavellan struck, it was always an organ, artery, or pressure point. She was not just _trained_ to kill, but had plenty of experience in doing so. The fact that her sparring partners were not accidentally killed by some of her moves was a testament to the elf's ability to pull her punches – another skill that could only be accomplished with excellent reflexes and muscle control.

It was somehow familiar to Leliana in a way that made her brain itch, as if the answer was right in front of her yet she was blind to it. Lavellan fought with the kind of grace and focus that only came with years of experience – experience that went beyond a simple Dalish hunter.

One of her sparring partners threw himself at Lavellan again – a human warrior with a sword and shield – and like she had done so often before, the elf seemed to simply float out of the way of his attack, bending her body just enough not to be hit, yet still close enough to land a hit on the man. The second man – an elven rogue, double blade wielder – attempted to attack her from behind, but she seemed to anticipate this, as Lavellan was already flowing into a lower stance, ducking under his swing and ramming the pommel of her daggers into his solar plexus. The man went down hard, wheezing, just as the previous warrior came at her again. This time the elleth ran to meet his attack, sliding underneath his swing so that she popped up between him and his shield and punching him square in the jaw.

Both men were down now.

A small crowd of soldier had gathered on the sidelines by now, including their esteemed commander. Cullen was watching the rogue elf with an impressed expression on his face, if a little bewildered at her ruthless speed.

Leliana had to admit, the young woman was very, very good. Too good, in fact. The longer she watched the elleth, the heavier the feeling in her gut became. With each strike that Lavellan landed, with each hit that she dodged so effortlessly, Leliana could not help but conclude that Lavellan had been trained by a master rogue.

She had seen this fighting style before. But where?

And then, of course, was Lavellan's strange accent. It was faint, almost unnoticeable except to the trained ear. Every few words that Lavellan spoke was pronounced oddly, making it obvious to anyone with ears that the common tongue was not her first language. But despite her clan's location in Orlais, Lavellan most definitely did not have an Orlesian accent.

Leliana frowned at the thoughts spinning in her head. She did not like where they were leading her. If it was anyone other than the Inquisitor, she might have suspected them of being a spy. Hell, Lavellan _did_ say that she had been at the Conclave as a spy for the Dalish. But if it weren't for the confirmation from the Lavellan clan, Leliana might have thought her a spy for a much darker, more dangerous group.

But Lavellan _was_ the Herald. She could have walked away in the beginning, and report back to whomever sent her, but she didn't. She chose to stay. For duty? For honor? Simply because of the death sentence centered in the palm of her hand? Whatever the reason, Leliana could not deny that Lavellan's involvement with the Inquisition seemed genuine. The lengths that the woman had already gone to just to secure supplies and aid for the Inquisition and their men went beyond mere duty. Would someone like that really risk so much if they were loyal to someone else?

* * *

 **Leliana is close to figuring out Lavellan's secret! Stay tuned for the next chapter to find out more!**

 **Please leave a review~**


	17. I'm too sober for this shit

**Hello everyone! This chapter is mostly having conversation with our dear advisers and making Roderick's life miserable. Prepare for the cranky elf!**

 **STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES**

* * *

After her morning spar, Lavellan went to fill some of the Inquisition's requisitions with Threnn, ordering few more, and then headed to the apothecary to speak with Adan about acquiring a few more poisons. While there, her nemesis Roderick showed, apparently looking for a tonic to ease his old bones. The chancellor had taken one look at the elf and sneered, his nose crinkling and lips curling in a way that was becoming all too familiar. Lavellan wanted to slice his skinny little neck every time he made that face. The gods knew she needed a drink after dealing with Roderdick – er, Roderick. Scratch that. _Ratdick_. Perfect.

Lavellan paused in her steps, however, at the sight of Leliana praying in the tent next to the quartermaster's table, down on one knee with her hands clasped together. She should have known better than approach her. She'd had enough dealings with the 'faithful' for one day.

Still, she felt like she owed it to the woman, if the tortured look on her face was anything.

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just." The redhead's whispers carried on the wind. "Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written."

 _I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?_

"Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that Your will is done?" She straightened and broke her hands apart. "Is death your only blessing?"

Lavellan stepped into the shade of the tent just as Leliana turned to her, hardening her voice.

"You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all this? What's His game?"

 _Merde…_ Lavellan sighed to herself. Yep, she was regretting this. She was not a religious person, and these were the last conversations she wanted to have at this point. "His… game?"

"Do you see the sky? What about the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust?" Leliana's voice was rising, hardening, accusing. "Even if you didn't support the Divine's peace, you wouldn't call this right! Who could? So many innocent lives – the faithful murdered were the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game, or a cruel joke?"

"Hun, look at me." Lavellan said in a dry voice, pointing at her _vallaslin_. "I'm not Andrastian. I don't believe in the Maker and he hasn't spoken to me yet to prove me wrong."

"Then we can only guess was _He_ wants." Leliana muttered, looking defeated. "The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all – our lives, our deaths. Justinia gave her everything she had and He let her die!"

"I don't know what's worse." Lavellan gave a bitter chuckle. "The fact that your god listens, yet demands so much, or that the Dalish gods are silent and do not hear us at all. Not that I believe in any of them, either."

"She was the Divine!" Leliana continued, growing frustrated. "She led the faithful, she was their heart! If the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of his servants, what good is He?"

 _If there really are gods in this world,_ Lavellan thought, but tactfully did not say aloud. _Then they do not care about us._

"I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are." Leliana sighed, cooling off. "I thought I was fulfilling his purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people…" She met Lavellan's eyes. "But now she's dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing."

Lavellan remained quiet as they lapsed into silence. Words poured into her head, onto her tongue, but she did not speak. What to say? She doubted her irreverent outlook on religion would help ease the woman's wounded heart. Leliana was mourning and angry, and Lavellan only had callous words in return.

Finally, she managed to say, "You will find your purpose again. Or find an entirely new one." Lavellan looked away and into the blue sky above. "Neither of us would be here is we gave up so easily."

Leliana seemed surprised at her words.

"Yes… You are right. I am… I apologize that you had to see me this way." The spymaster seemed to straighten as the walls went up and she turned away. "It was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again."

"We all have moments of weakness." Lavellan said as the spymaster brushed her shoulder. "I will not hold it against you."

Leliana hummed. "We have work to do, Herald. Thank you for listening."

"Anytime." Lavellan shrugged as she made a hasty escape to the tavern just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

She asked Flissa for a _large_ flask of brandy that night. Too much religion for one day, and she was no philosopher.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

She was pacing along the walls of Haven again, early in the morning so that she would not be disturbed by anyone, save for the night watch posted by the gates and outside the village limits where they watched her anxiously.

The news arrived late last night that she had been invited to speak with both the mages and the templars about an alliance. But she could only choose one, her advisers had told her. But why only one? There was so much that could go wrong with closing the Breach! Too much magic and it could rip the sky further apart, not enough magic and it might not seal properly. They needed both! Why couldn't anyone see that! She felt the pulse of the Fade when she connected with those rifts. Push and pull, push and pull. Magic was needed to sustain it, templar juju was needed to keep it contained.

No, it wasn't that they couldn't see that both would be helpful, but it is because no one expected the mages and templars to work together willingly.

 _Fuck that!_ Lavellan thought. _I'll punch both sides until I can beat some sense into them!_

There had to be good and bad on both sides. Surely both could be persuaded to prevent the world from ending and _then_ resume their pointless squabbles? They had been willing to sit down at the Conclave, no? Which meant that there was support for peace in the majority of either side.

 _What if I recruited them separately?_ Lavellan asked herself. _Send a party to each to negotiate an alliance. And hope that nothing blows up when they convene in Haven… actually, no one will be allowed to enter Haven until they agree to work on the Breach together._

Creators, it was worse than wrangling children.

She could send Cullen to head the negotiations with the templars. He was well respected in the order, even after his "retirement". She had seen the way the templars in Haven looked at him – a leader, a hero. A legend among templars, the man who had survived the collapse of the Ferelden Circle during the Blight, and then rallied the templars and helped restore order in Kirkwall following the giant clusterfuck that had started this mess. He had advocated for better treatment of mages in Circles, understanding and friendship between templars and mages, and was a staunch supporter of the Templar Order, despite mounting scandal and accusations of abuse.

Yes, Cullen would be perfect. Even that _dick_ Lucius would be forced to bow to the demands of those templars that followed him. There was not a templar in Thedas that would ignore the great Cullen Rutherford. Even with all of his rhetoric about retirement and leaving the Order, the templars regarded him as their own. Their leader, by default, by example.

Should she send Cassandra with him? The Seekers commanded respect and fear in the templars. They were the Chantry's boogeyman, a tier above the Order, the secret police. They were the ones that the templars whispered about in the night. And with Lucius being an _asshole_ … it would be a good opportunity for the Seeker to demand answers from her mentor.

But, what of the mages?

Solas and Vivienne would be perfect companions, but not leaders.

However, Solas was unknown to the mages of Thedas. They would not trust a stranger, especially an apostate that turns his nose up at their Circle educations and their struggle. He was not a man that would inspire their loyalty. Plus, his attitude was pissy at best.

Vivienne was the embodiment of the Circle, and while mages across Thedas respected her authority and acknowledged her power, there were too many of them that had lost their trust in the Circle. And Vivienne embodied that.

Well, if Vivienne liked her Chantry and Order so much, why not send her off to persuade the Templars? Show them that there are still mages who respect them. Yes, that would work. The Iron Bull would have to go as well; she knew the Qunari were not fond of magic. But she needed one more… Sera! Of course!

Sera was terrified of magic. Not mages, in particular, just what they were capable of. Taking her to Redcliffe, the figurative hornets' nest, would be cruel. Besides, it would be good to have a commoner like Sera present to remind the Templars of their duty to the protection of the people.

So, the Templar group would be led by Cullen, followed by Cassandra, Vivienne, Bull, and Sera.

Lavellan's sympathies had always lain with the underdog – the mages. She would lead a group to Redcliffe with Solas, Blackwall, and Varric.

Varric was a little more in the gray area as far as morality goes, and Varric probably had more apostate friends than the rest of them. Despite what Lavellan had heard about Anders – and Varric rarely talked about his tragic friend – Varric could at least agree that the Circle were flawed. Blackwall was a fuckin' bleeding heart, he would always support the wounded party, which would be the mages, historically. And Solas… was an egghead.

What happened after fixing the Breach was not something Lavellan was willing to think about at the moment. She would have representatives from the Templars and the mages… maybe she could call up an impromptu Conclave? Force their leaders to sit down and talk, for once?

Whatever.

Fuck it.

She'd deal with it when the time came.

"Uh… Your Worship?"

Lavellan blinked, realizing with a start that the sun had long since risen. The clink and clank of metal on metal was slowly growing to a steady din over by the training grounds as Cullen roused his troops and began their drills.

Behind her was the elven servant that had been attending her since she first woke up in Haven.

"Ah, hello." Lavellan shook herself from her thoughts and turned to face the young girl.

"Y-You were not in your cottage when I arrived with breakfast, messere." The servant stuttered – what was her name again? "I came to find you, in case you were still hungry…"

Lavellan felt her stomach clench and was suddenly reminded that she had been standing on the wall for almost an hour now.

"Ah, yes." She nodded to the girl. "Breakfast sounds wonderful."

.*.*.  ҉,  .*.*.

After breakfast, she returned to the abandoned shack in the woods outside of Haven with a sack of food and a canteen of water. Alone in the woods without anyone to watch her, she pulled out her daggers and fell into a deep fighting stance, feeling the weight of her body settle in her thighs, her heels dug into the snow, and she began slowly practicing her fighting forms. With every block, every swing of the blade, her movements became faster and faster, steel glinting in the sunlight, dry lips, quick breathes, lungs burning between the exertion and cold air. Her entire body toed the line between pleasure and pain as her muscles stretched and contracted.

She had not practiced like this in ages. Years, even. Cullen's men were mostly cadets, a few of them veterans but not highly skilled. None of them were fast or ruthless enough to train with her without Lavellan holding back. A slip, a stumble, and she might accidentally stab them in the neck. Cullen would be pissed.

She had not practiced like this even with the clan, too preoccupied learning to use a bow and going on weekly hunting trips. When she wasn't hunting there was always someone needing assistance in the clan. Mirath was a mage, but had insisted that she teach her the basics of fighting with a blade, so every other evening she was busy teaching the First which end of a dagger to hold. Creators, that girl was so clumsy. When she wasn't teaching, Deshanna put her to work making salves and poultices, using her knowledge of alchemy ( _cough_ poisons _cough_ ) to keep the clan's medical stores in stock.

Lavellan paused for a moment to take a break, her shoulders aching at the strain of her training. She was growled at herself as she stabbed her daggers into the snow and sat down to chug water and bite into a roll of bread.

 _I'm so much slower than I once was._ She thought, kicking herself. _Fool. I should have known better than to neglect my training._

And she wasn't going to get much better without a proper sparring partner to smack her every time she slowed down. There was only so far one could go on their own. Did they even have any master rogues in Haven? Leliana perhaps, but she was primarily an archer. Same with Sera and Varric. Damn.

She sighed and stood back up, grabbing her daggers and twirling them in her hands. Circles and circles, from the blade to the wrist, from the ankles to the hips. Circles and circles.

" _Never stop moving. Never pause. Slow down and you will get caught."_

The voice of her first teacher echoed in her head.

" _Aim for the back, aim for the flank. Kill them before they even see you coming."_

Her movements became less offensive, more defensive and she flipped and twirled around the clearing, bounding off tree trunks or running up their ice-slicked sides and flipping over the head of an imaginary foe.

" _Move in a circle around them, around and around. It disorients them, keeps them distracted. They will make a mistake, and that is when you strike."_

Rolling, twisting, jumping, flying. She missed this feeling. There wasn't much need for such extravagant fighting in the woods of the Dales, unless a particularly cranky bear decided to have a taste of Dalish. She doubted that elves tasted very good. They probably tasted like spite and disappointment, with a dash of sarcasm.

Heaving a deep breath and relaxing from her fighting stance, Lavellan decided to call it quits for the day. The sun was at high noon. No doubt the world was ending without her presence in that blasted chantry. Lavellan stowed her daggers away and grabbed her snack bag, finishing off the last of her canteen and gobbling up her bread rolls.

She walked back to the gates of Haven at a leisurely pace, noting with interest that Cullen was on the training field and had started guiding his men through new battle formations, looking more than a little frustrated with the untrained men. These were not the templars he had once commanded, they were soft farm lads without an ounce of training. She pitied the man.

 _He sure is pretty._ She thought with amusement as the light of the sun turned his hair to gold. He looked like a knight from a fairytale, destined to sweep the princess off her feet. _Alas, I do not date men prettier than me._

He caught sight of her walking down the worn, snowless path along Haven's walls, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her disheveled, armored appearance, impressed that she had been training as well.

"Hello, Commander." She greeted him, detouring from her course to stand beside him and watch a lieutenant shout orders.

"We've received a number of recruits – locals from Haven, some pilgrims." He began. Always a serious man. "None made _quite_ the entrance you did."

"What can I say, I've always had a flair for the dramatic." Lavellan chuckled dryly, sending him a wink. "I don't recommend the glowy parts, however. It tingles."

Cullen eyed her left hand with a curious mixture of discomfort and amusement. Then, in a lower voice, he asked, "Does it cause you pain?"

"No." She told him honestly. "Unless there's a particularly stubborn rift that doesn't want to close. Most of them seal right up, however."

His shoulders relaxed a little. "Good."

"So, your men are coming along nicely." She quickly changed the subject. "We're lucky to have you for a commander. However did that happen?"

"I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself." Cullen admitted as he motioned for her to follow him around the yard. "I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused."

"Even the Dalish heard how awful the Kirkwall tower was." Lavellan told him, the commander wincing at the truth. "I hope most of the tales I heard were just horror stories."

"Unfortunately, most of them are probably true." Cullen sighed with a shake of his head. "The templars in Kirkwall were just as bad as the mages, probably. It didn't help that we were being led by a madwoman. I tried to change things, tried to make it right… but there was already such a long, deep-rooted hatred between mages and templars in that city that nothing could be changed."

Lavellan gave him a sympathetic look. "That is… disconcerting. Do you blame the mages, then, for rebelling?"

"Not at all." He admitted, surprising her. "I know there are some Circles that make it work, some that are good and healthy… but far too many are not. Templars are taught to fear mages, and that fear turns into rage. They stop seeing mages as people, but as rabid dogs on leashes, and the towers stop being schools and become prisons. But the threat of blood magic and possession does not excuse the abuses by the Chantry and the Order. I just wish there had been another way."

Lavellan was speechless, for a moment, staring at the ex-templar that actually pitied the mages rather than curse their existence. She had never been very interested in the mage-templar problem, it had never been a priority for her until now. But still, in all her travels, she had never met a templar that sympathized with the mages.

"That is… certainly unusual." She finally spoke. "If only all templars could see it the way you do. Perhaps, we wouldn't be here."

"Oh, I've had my bad moments too." He admitted, a dark look flashing across his face. Then it passed, like the shadow of a cloud on a sunny day. "Cassandra sought me out because she knew we had similar interests – to find a solution to the enmity between magic and the Chantry. I left the Order to join her cause, to be there should the need for the Inquisition arise. I never thought it would be because of a hole in the damn sky."

She chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think anyone planned for that."

"Except the ones that sabotaged the Conclave, maybe." Cullen muttered under his breath.

"It wasn't me!" Lavellan immediately stated and held up her hands.

He sent her an amused look. "I wasn't accusing."

"Yeah, well at least one person isn't." She sighed as she placed her hands on her hips and gazed over the field. He chuckled in response.

"Commander!" A soldier came jogging up to them. "Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines."

He glanced back at her and bowed his head. "I will see you later, Herald."

She nodded as he left. Feeling icky and sweaty from her training, Lavellan turned and headed back in the direction of the gates, entering Haven and seeking out one of the servants to have a bath set up in her cottage. She walked slowly up the steps and into the cottage, two servants were already there and setting it up. Much to her annoyance, the started apologizing profusely for not having hot water by the time she had opened the door, and it took several minutes to calm them down.

Damn. Why did nobles like having servants so much? Their stress was making _her_ stressed!

Eventually she managed to shoo them away, the tray of hot coals beneath the small iron tub warming the metal and the water. A stool sat nearby with fresh towels and a bar of expensive soap sitting on top of it.

 _We can barely afford to outfit all our soldiers with armor, and were wasting money on lavender soap?_ Lavellan wrinkled her nose at the luxury item, then sighed. No use complaining. She stripped off the armor and the clothing beneath it, letting everything clang to the floor and climbing into the tub. _Oh yessssss._

She washed and then sat in there for several minutes, closing her eyes closed, knees pressed to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. The sound of the door creaking open disturbed her from her thoughts, her hand slowly reaching for the dagger sitting under the water next to her bum.

"Oh!"

It was the servant girl that usually attended her. The elven one with the horrible orange tunic.

"My apologies, m'lady." The girl automatically began bowing, making Lavellan pinch her nose. "I didn't mean to –"

" _Stop_." She commanded, making the girl freeze. Then she softened her voice. "I am just an elf. Please stop treating me like some snobby noble. I will not hit you or punish you, or complain that you're a lazy knife-ear." Lavellan pointed at her own ears. "Just relax, would ya? You're making me antsy."

"U-um, my apolo –"

"Stop apologizing." Lavellan growled.

"R-Right." The girl seemed uncertain how to treat her now. "I was just – I was just coming in to change you bed sheets."

Lavellan blinked. "They're still clean."

"Y-Yes but my boss insists that you have clean sheets every night –"

So that's why they always smelled so fresh. Lavellan sighed and lifted a hand out of the water to wave her silent. "What is your name, girl?"

"M-Mina…" The girl answered, taken aback that the esteemed Herald would ask for her name.

"Mina." Lavellan smiled at her. "You don't have to be afraid of me. Before all this I was just a Dalish hunter living in the forest, sleeping beside halla and hunting in the woods. I am as holy as you are."

Mina's eyes glanced at the hand that glowed green.

"Yeah, that is just an unfortunate occurrence." Lavellan chuckled when she followed her gaze.

"Do you really believe that?" She whispered, still a little reluctant to partake in such a familiar conversation with the Herald.

"Well I certainly don't believe in the Maker." Lavellan scoffed, making the servant blink in shock.

"Oh…" Was the girl disappointed or confused? It was hard to tell from her expression.

Lavellan took pity on the girl. "Sorry if you thought otherwise."

"No please don't – I mean, I didn't – " Mina seemed to struggle for words. "I never really knew what to believe. The Maker seemed like a mere story until… well, you. I thought that maybe you were a sign that I _should_ believe."

"Well I'm not." Lavellan chuckled. "Anyway, it's about time I stopped marinating in the water. Are you bothered by nudity?"

"No, but someone of your station should not– _m'lady!_ " Mina squeaked as Lavellan rose from the water and bent for the towel on the stool. The poor girl was turning red.

Lavellan chuckled at her as she began to dry herself. Mina quickly looked away, but found her eyes drawn back to the Herald's body when she caught a glimpse of something on her skin. Lavellan leaned over the tub to wring out her long hair, ink flowing from her shoulders to her back between the shoulder blades, but the Herald turned before Mina could see what the tattoo was exactly. But the ink paled in comparison to the various scars across her body, most of them small, thin lines, but altogether they made her body look like it was layered by a cobweb.

The girl's eyes widened at the extent of the scars, especially the larger ones, a slash or two on her torso and leg, short, thick tissue on her side to show where she had once been impaled. When Lavellan turned to begin binding her breasts Mina felt her throat close up at the sight of a raised and jagged line slashing diagonally between her breasts, from her left clavicle to just under her right breast. Someone had been aiming for her heart and missed.

"Those scars…" Mina whispered, horrified.

Lavellan paused after she had finished putting on her underclothes and looked down at herself. "Yeah, it ain't pretty, is it?" She chuckled. "But you should have seen the other guy."

"What happened?" Mina asked softly.

"Slavers." Lavellan replied far too quickly. "They caught me when I was a child. I ran away and joined the Dalish after that."

Mina seemed at a loss for words as Lavellan pulled on her tunic and breeches, then began putting on the light leather armor that she wore when she was not going off to the battlefield. Wordlessly, the servant approached her and began to help, tightening buckles and adjusting their length.

"Thank you." Lavellan murmured.

"Of course." Mina hummed as Lavellan bent down to retrieve her boots. "Would you like me to braid your hair, m'lady?"

 _Don't suppose she'd stop with this 'lady' stuff._ Lavellan sighed inwardly as she responded with an offhanded tone, "Sure."

She left the cottage to start preparing for her next voyage out. Leliana's scouts had confirmed the presence of the mages in Redcliffe, and so far, suspected no foul play. She ran her fingers lightly over the elaborate crown of braids that Mina had created upon her head, a light smile playing on her face. Guess there was a perk to having a servant after all; pity that the braids would fall apart after a battle or two.

She headed out with Solas, Vivienne, and Cassandra to Redcliffe that evening, intent only on scouting the area before speaking with the mages.

No one expected the Tevinters.

If Cassandra had not been there to reign her in, Lavellan would have seriously considered just cutting her losses and killing them all. Why were people so fucking stupid? Sadly, the Seeker was able to muffle most of Lavellan's expletives and hold her back from smacking the nearest mage in the head for sheer stupidity.

Why was she always cleaning up other people's mess?!

* * *

 **I know the elf servant isn't introduced in canon, so I made up a name. Anyone who has to put up with crack!Lavellan ought to recieve a medal haha.**

 **Poor thing.**

 **Anyway, next up we've got encounters in Redcliffe, and you know what that means... sassy gay mages! *wink wink***

 **Please leave a review!**


	18. Tevinters always make bad decisions

**New chapter finally up! Sorry if some of the conversation is repetitive, but I tried not to stick too closely to the script.**

 **But you know what more than makes up for it? DORIAN.**

 **DORIAN IS IN THE HOUSE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.**

 **Disclaimer: Bioware owns this game and my heart *Patrick Weekes cackling in the distance***

* * *

The Gull & Lantern in Redcliffe was clearly a newer building, well-built and sparkling clean compared to most taverns. The tables and chairs were still untouched by spilled drink and knife marks, the air lacking the permanent smell of ale that most bars had. In fact, a fresh breeze rolled in from the back door, wafting through the kitchen into the main room, carrying the smell of fresh fruit and cheese that were ready to be served. Like most of the buildings in the village, it had been built after the Blight, and bore no sign of the horrors that the village had faced during that time.

Lavellan had scoped the place out for a good hour before entering, sitting in the shadows of a nearby craft shop as she watched the customers walk in and out of the tavern. She saw no suspicious activity, save the unusual number of mages walking freely around town. The angle she sat at gave her a glimpse of Fiona's position in the tavern, the older witch sitting at a back table and speaking with a few older enchanters. Her expression was serious, worried even, the only sign that something was amiss, though what it was, she could not guess. Only the feeling of doom settling in Lavellan's stomach told her that something was bound to go wrong.

Though the rogue would have been content to scope out the tavern for at least another day, her companions were becoming antsy. Cassandra huffed for the fifteenth time, and Vivienne had run out of nails to sharpen with the file she kept in her pocket.

"Herald." Cassandra finally spoked with a frustrated sigh. "I think it is safe to go in now."

Lavellan tore her gaze away from the window and glanced at the annoyed looks on the faces of her companions. "Alright, fine."

They exited their hiding spot, Cassandra and Vivienne taking the lead. The sight of a Seeker would make the mages think twice about attacking them, but with a First Enchanter at her side, would seem less of an enemy. Lavellan glanced at Solas, but her fellow elf seemed entirely unaffected by the situation, his gaze distant, as if lost in thought.

 _Daydreaming even now._ Lavellan snickered inwardly. He was strange, even for an elf.

When they entered the tavern, the room immediately froze at the sight of a Seeker and the First Enchanter that had remained at the Chantry's side after the rebellion. Cassandra was rather famous for those who grew up in Orlais, and Madame de Fer was a force to be reckoned with in the Circles. The two of them together was a clear show of force from the Chantry, despite their affiliation with the Inquisition. More than a few mages stared at them in wonder or fear.

"Welcome, agents of the Inquisition." Grand Enchanter Fiona eyed them warily, and without any sign of recognition in her expression. She slowly stood up out of her chair to approach the group cautiously. "What has brought you to Redcliffe?"

 _Either she has a really good pokerface, or someone has played us._ Lavellan thought as she glanced around the tavern, noting the entrances and exits, counting the number of mages and civilians, noting one tranquil, and two armed men in the back. _This smells like a trap._

The elf bristled, her shoulders squaring for a fight as she walked away from the entrance and further into the tavern. Her companions seemed to notice her unease, and she could hear the soft whisper of leather and a clink or two of metal as they also prepared themselves for an attack.

"We received a personal invitation from you in Val Royeaux." Lavellan explained slowly, cautiously. "Either it was you, or you have a twin sister you don't know about."

The enchantress narrowed her eyes, suspicion on her face, though thankfully it was not directed at them. "I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave."

"Well, then. Evil twin it is." Lavellan nodded sagely, her face entirely serious. Several of the younger mages giggled at her, while someone behind her (probably Solas) sighed disapprovingly.

"Whoever, or whatever, has brought you here, the situation has changed." Fiona stated with no small amount of regret in her expression.

 _Here we go._ Lavellan thought in exasperation. Just once, could something actually go as planned? Just. Once.

"The Free Mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium."

 _By the Creators, someone slap this woman._ Lavellan rubbed her forehead, an alternative to punching the stupid enchanter right in the face, and shook her head. She got the feeling her companions behind her were wearing similar expressions. "Wow. You are _a lot_ dumber than you look. Like, a lot."

"Fiona dear, your dementia is showing." Vivienne sniffed, but her voice was tinged with genuine apprehension. Her own Circle would be vilified if word spread of this alliance.

The mages, and Fiona in particular, glared at her with varying degrees of anger, scandal, and offended looks.

"I understand that you are afraid," Solas spoke up with his soothing wise-old-man voice. "But you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter."

Cassandra looked positively mortified. "An alliance with Tevinter? Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?"

A couple of the mages opened their mouths to defend themselves, but were quickly silenced by a sharp movement of Fiona's hand. "As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you."

"You do realize this means the rest of Thedas will see you all as traitors?" Lavellan raised her eyebrow at the general mage population in front of her. "It's a long way from here to Tevinter. And word spreads fast. They'll hunt you down, Templars or no."

Fiona's expression crumbled into desperation. "All hope of peace died with Justinia. This bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we had no choice." The older elf shook her head. "We are losing this war. I needed to save as many people as I could."

"So you're going to sell your people off? Well, at least you'll get to make some gold while they're still alive." Lavellan retorted dryly. _Coward._

Lavellan wanted to throttle the damn enchantress. Every mage in southern Thedas, rebel or no, would instantly be branded as traitors, loyalists and spies of the dreaded Tevinter Imperium. Fool of a woman! She was damning generations of magi simply because she was desperate. The backlash for all other mages in Thedas once word of this got out… towns would riot, people would hunt down anyone that showed an aptitude for magic, burn them at the stake or drown them as children. Humans were such fearful creatures, and more often than not incapable of logic when they let fear take over. It would be the chaos of the Hinterlands all over again, but worse as it spread throughout the continent. She doubted even the Inquisition could stop it.

They all tensed as the door to the tavern was flung open in a way that was meant to draw their attention, a man in truly horrid robes striding in like he owned the places. Lavellan couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at his hood– he looked like a walking dragonfruit with those weird flaps sticking up. And his face was smoothed into a placed smile that only the most devious politicians wore when they were trying to reassure you of their moral compass.

"Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier." The man walked in with all the swagger of a noble, and the air filled with the tang of magic.

 _The magister, I presume._ Lavellan thought. _Ugh, he even sounds evil._

"Agents of the Inquisition." Fiona said rather stiffly, clearly still mistrusting of the man. "Allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius."

Alexius came to a halt in front of the Herald and her companions, studying them with thinly veiled animosity. "The southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting."

It was never a good thing for the bad guy to be interested in you.

"Now why would an _esteemed_ Tevinter Magister leave the glittering halls of the Imperium for the backwater South, hm?" She drawled, careful to keep the conversation casual and light.

Alexius chuckled and gave her his friendliest smile, which only served to make her skin crawl. "I am quite far from home, yes, but I hear you are no Ferelden either. It seems we are both strangers here."

" _I_ am from the country next door." Lavellan pointed out. " _You_ are half a continent away. There's a slight difference."

He just sent her an amused look, eyes glimmering with secrets. So that's how he wanted to play it, hm?

"I find it highly unusual for a noble from Tevinter to be traipsing around Ferelden without the royal court going up in scandal." Lavellan narrowed her eyes. "Nor do I see any sign of the Arl or his men here in Redcliffe."

"The Arl of Redcliffe left the village." Alexius shrugged. "There were tensions growing, I did not want an incident."

 _Ugh, does he really think us so blind? He is such a terrible liar, he couldn't even win a game of Wicked Grace._ Lavellan wanted to sneer. Such an obvious lie too. A noble didn't just leave their lands at the behest of a foreigner. He either thought her daft, or he was not expecting them to survive long enough to send out a warning.

The magister motioned for her to join him at the nearest table, in order to sit and negotiate a price for the mages.

"Felix, will you send for a scribe, please?" Alexius looked up at a young man that had accompanied him into the tavern. "Pardon my manners, this is my son, Felix."

The young man had a friendly enough countenance, and he didn't make Lavellan's instincts scream at her to murder him. That was always a plus.

Alexius began mumbling on about his offer to help, on his terms of course, carefully sidestepping any real promises and keeping most of his suggestions intentionally vague. Lavellan daydreamed once or twice about the fastest way to kill him, sitting here in the tavern, and how she would escape the wrath of the mages around them. A smoke bomb? Had to strike fast when it came to mages, before they could cast anything.

Movement caught her eye, and Lavellan turned just in time to see the young man, Felix, stumble as he walked back in with a scribe behind him. His stumble seemed to make him dizzy, as his eyes flickered uncontrollably around the room and his hand went to his head.

 _He's going to fall._ Was all Lavellan thought before she stood and took a cautious step towards him.

Then his direction change, and the magister's son was collapsing in her direction and the elf had no choice but to catch him. She felt quick fingers at her pockets, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

 _A pass._ She thought, absently impressed with the man's acting skills. He was certainly a better liar than his father.

"Felix!" The magister gasped, the first real display of emotion she had seen from him. He was as worried as any father should be, the dread on his face telling her that perhaps Felix's display was not such an act after all. Clearly, there was a history here.

"I'm so sorry!" Felix shook his head, as if to wash away the dizziness. "Please forgive my clumsiness, my lady."

She nodded in silent forgiveness, careful to keep her expression distantly polite.

Alexius stepped forward to help his son back to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, father." Felix sighed with all the annoyance of a child put out at their parent's hovering.

It seemed all parents had the overprotective instinct, even those heartless Tevinter bastards. Alexius quickly excused himself and his son, mumbling about the boy's medicines while he practically shoved everyone out of the way in his haste to get his son back to the castle.

Lavellan waited a few more minutes as the rest of the mages in the tavern filed out after Alexius and his son, Fiona following suit like a leashed dog, her mages like the puppies that trailed behind. Lavellan made brief eye contact with Solas, the other elf having also noticed the discreet pass-off from the magister's son, and his curious gaze glued to her side pocket.

The paper was small and crumpled when she pulled it out, Lavellan smoothing the edges as she read the letter. There were still a few civilian patrons lingering in the tavern, so she dared not read it aloud, only pass it along for her companions to see for themselves.

' _Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.'_

Vivienne raised her brows as she skimmed the note. "Trap?"

"Most likely." Solas nodded, though he seemed unbothered at the notion.

Cassandra's eyes glinted at the challenge. "They are fools to underestimate us, then."

Lavellan smirked back at them.

.*.*. ҉ .*.*.

She could feel the presence of a rift even before the they had pushed open the Chantry doors. They swung open to reveal that sickly green light she was all too familiar with these days, raw mana swirling around the interior of the building as sharp, inhuman fingers clawed at the edges of the rift and demons began to push themselves through.

They walked in just in time to see a mage smash a demon's face with the butt of his staff, fire flashing through his fingers as he incinerated what was left of it. He looked up at their arrival, his grin completely debonair.

"Good! You're here!" He gave them a cheeky look, his tone posh and polished as a noble. "Now help me close this, would you?"

They didn't have much choice as another round of demons chose that moment to stream through the Fade rift, screeching and growling as they lurched into the world. Lavellan and her companions leapt into action, Solas casting a barrier around them as Cassandra rushed forward, dispelling the magic around the rift as she slammed into a large shade. Vivienne was froze a rage demon and Lavellan shattered it with a dual-bladed flank attack. A few of the other shades nearby were screaming as they burned under the mystery mage's flames, Vivienne turning her attention to them as well as she conjured her knight enchanter's blade and swung at one of the panicking spirits. Solas cast a healing spell over Cassandra, who was taking heavy damage from a rather large shade, while Lavellan slipped into the shadows until she was able to safely close the rift without the demons noticing.

When the last of the demons crumbled to ash and the rift was sealed, their newest acquaintance turned to them with an exhilarated expression, his finger curling the end of his mustache thoughtfully.

"Fascinating! How does that work exactly?" The man exclaimed with a distinctly Tevinter accent, then chuckled. "You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes!"

"I don't actually wiggle my fingers, but yes." Lavellan nodded, studying the man with amusement. "And… who might you be?"

"Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?"

She had learned to expect people to bow to her since being named the Herald of Andraste, but she was certainly taken by surprise when the Tevinter nobleman bowed to an elf like her, Herald or not.

 _I like this guy already._ Lavellan decided.

"Another Tevinter." Cassandra stated in a suspicious tone. "Be cautious with this one."

Vivienne let her condescension be known. "Let one Tevinter in, and suddenly they're scurrying out of all the walls like roaches.

"Now, now, I'm ever so much more handsome than a cockroach." Ser Dorian said in a laughing voice, clearly unsurprised at their mistrust, and the elf couldn't help but smirk at his rebuttal. "Magister Alexius was once my mentor. So my assistance should be invaluable – as I'm sure you can imagine."

 _Betraying his mentor?_ Lavellan hummed. _Something happened between them, then. A disagreement? Whatever it is, it was it must have been a lasting impression if his former student followed him all the way here._

"So why help us?" The elleth asked Dorian.

"Well, you must know there's danger. That should be obvious even without the note." The Tevinter began to explain to her. "Let's start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach the Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself!"

 _Well… shit._

Somewhere out there, there was a god, creator, _something_ that was laughing their ass off as they dumped one new shitpile after another onto her shoulders.

"So, the Divine dies, and Alexius pops up out of nowhere just in time to be the hero that the mages needed in their darkest hour." Lavellan drawled, rolling her eyes. At this point she just wanted to kill everyone and be done with it.

Dorian chuckled. "You catch on quick."

"That is fascinating." Solas murmured with his eyes alight at the possibilities. "… and most certainly dangerous." He added, almost as an afterthought.

 _God you're such a nerd._ Lavellan thought with a mental snicker.

"You saw how the rifts appeared to be distorting time around them, yes?" Dorian made a vague hand gesture to where the rift had been. "Sped some things up and slowed others down? Soon, there will be more like it, and they'll appear further and further away from Redcliffe." The mage suddenly became very serious. "The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it's unraveling the world."

 _Seriously?_ Lavellan thought to whatever grand spirit out there was writing this stupid story. _Seriously. Why do you do this to me?_

"Alright, I vote we just blow up the castle." Lavellan threw her hands in the air and spun around to look at her fellow elf. "Solas, I don't suppose we have any more crazy Elvhen artifacts lying around?"

" _Lethallin!_ " The bald elf snapped with a scolding tone.

Both Cassandra and Vivienne looked like they were desperately trying not to crack a smile through their disapproving expressions.

"Normally, I'd agree with you. I do love making things go up in flames." Dorian told her with a cocksure grin and a wink. "However, I'd rather not take the chance of any more of this time-magic research falling into the wrong hands. It must be destroyed, and I must see it with my own eyes."

"You don't seriously believe these Tevinters have invented time magic?" Vivienne scoffed as if offended, though Lavellan had a hunch that it was more about her mage pride at stake. As if the thought of the Tevinters being further advanced in their magical research was a blow to every Circle in southern Thedas (though it only made sense, since the Tevinters operated without Chantry censorship).

Dorian turned to the First Enchantress with a superior sniff. "I _know_ what I'm talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was his apprentice, it was pure theory. No one actually thought it would work!" Then, as an aside, he murmured, "Just made me look good in front of my professors."

The Tevinter crossed his arms and tapped his chin. "What I don't understand is why he's doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?"

"Certainly makes him stand out among the rest of the magisterium." Lavellan muttered. Mad men rarely did the logical thing.

"He didn't do it for them."

Dorian, Lavellan, and the rest of her companions turned to see Felix slip through a narrow side-door behind the Chantry's prayer candles. The elf glanced over the young man's shoulder warily, wondering if his father was nearby. The magister's son colluding with the Inquisition? Surely not.

"Took you long enough." Dorian quipped, smiling at Felix with the ease of familiarity, before his expression returned to the serious one it had before. "Is he getting suspicious?"

"No." Felix sighed, "But I shouldn't have played the illness card. Thought he'd be fussing over me all day."

The magister's son turned to look at Lavellan then, and she couldn't help but noticed the permanent dark circles around his eyes, or the sickly pallor of his skin. He was dying, she realized with a start.

"My father has joined a cult." Felix told the Herald, looking ashamed of his father's actions. "Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori'. And I can tell you one thing, whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to you."

 _I'm flattered._ She thought dryly, frowning at the two Tevinters. "You both have more reason to be loyal to Alexius than me. Why approach the Inquisition? Why betray your own father and mentor?"

"I love my father, and like Dorian, I love my country." Felix nodded at his countryman. "But time magic? My father could potentially destroy the world. This benefits no one, and dooms us all. For his own sake, we must stop him!"

"It would also be nice if he didn't rip a hole in time." Dorian rolled his eyes. "There's already a hole in the sky. One is enough, thank you."

 _Agreed._ Lavellan thought as she considered the two men in front of her. Then another thought occurred to her – the explosion at the Conclave was weeks ago. Still too short a time for news of the attack, or her survival, to reach the Tevinter Imperium all the way at the other end of the continent. Which meant that they had already been nearby when it happened. Which meant that Alexius had known about her even before he rearranged time to show up in Redcliffe.

"… _whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to you."_ Her brows furrowed at the implications. To kill her? Or capture? And why? For the mark, or for the title of 'Herald'? Or did she pose some other threat to their plans?

"Do you know what the Venatori want with me?" Lavellan asked Felix, eyeing his expression closing for any sign of deceit.

But the young man just shook his head. "They're obsessed with you. I don't know why. Maybe it's because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?"

 _Survived the Fade_ went unsaid, but she heard it all the same. The last record of a person actually walking physically through the Fade were the Tevinter Magisters of old, the ones said to have triggered the Blights. The implications of her survival could either be seen as a blessing or a warning by many in Thedas, but it took particular precedence for those in the Imperium. The Tevinters had been living in the shadow of their ancestors for centuries, blamed for every darkspawn, every archdemon, and every Blight that wracked the land. They did not like to be reminded of their greatest sin, and here she was, the elf who dared to walk the Fade as well, but rather than be punished by their Maker, she was marked (literally) as his messenger.

A conundrum, to be sure.

"And you _can_ seal the rifts." Dorian glanced down at Lavellan's glowing hand. "Maybe there's a connection? Or they see you as a threat?"

"A threat and an insult." Lavellan chuckled, both Tevinters glancing at her pointed ears and smirking in agreement. An _elf_ succeeded, where their precious ancestors had failed.

"If the Venatori are behind those rifts, or the Breach in the sky, they're even worse than I thought." Felix was starting to look more worried than when he had arrived.

Cassandra snorted behind her. "I didn't think the Tevinters could get any worse."

Vivienne tittered while Lavellan sent her a look that was supposed to look scolding, but was probably more amused than anything. "Don't jinx us, Cassie."

"Yes, there's been enough crazy Tevinters in history. Makes the rest of us look like a bore." Dorian stated with a scathing tone, before turning back to the Herald. "You know you're his target. Expecting the trap is the first step to turning it to your advantage."

 _As if dealing with an army of rebel mages wasn't stressful enough. Now it's turned into a Tevinter plot._ She resisted the urge to scowl.

"I can't stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn't know I'm here, and I want to keep it that way, for now." The tanned Tevinter smirked at Lavellan. "But when you go meet with him, I want to be there."

The expression on Dorian's face was a cross between a playful smirk and a look of retribution. She supposed it must hurt to see a childhood mentor fall so low, though hers had always been a monster and she had had no illusions to it. But from what she could gather, Alexius had once been a respectful man. The disappointment in his son's and apprentice's expressions was enough to tell her that this was not the man they had come to know. His actions had betrayed them both, whether Alexius realized it or not.

"I'll have one of Leliana's contacts in the village approach you." Lavellan told Dorian. "That way you can continue to report on his behavior while we head back to Haven. Hopefully we can find a way around all this mess."

Dorian dipped into a short bow before straightening and walking to the back door of the Chantry. "Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed."

"There are worse things than dying, Dorian." The younger Tevinter stated solemnly, before he took his leave as well, heading back the way he came in.

 _Like the destruction of time and space. And wet socks._ Lavellan grimaced as she turned to face her companions. Silence stretched between them for a moment, each companion lost in their own thoughts on the conversation that had just occurred in the Chantry.

"Let's go." Lavellan murmured, heading for the main doors.

She needed a drink.

* * *

 **I know this story get a little slow at times, but I promise things will get more interesting after Haven. A lot of Lavellan's story will be fleshed out and some of her actions explained. I'll get a little more in depth with her friendships once she starts to trust her companions, and of course, her relationship with Solas (can you even call it that at this point?) Anyway, I've already got some good stuff written down, just a matter of posting it all in order.**

 **Speaking of, Solasmance is always slow going, which is because he is slow to care and slow to trust. And since my Lavellan is the same way, its like "unstoppable force meet immovable object" aka slow burn romance with a lot of unconscious flirting. I've already got some** **̶s̶m̶u̶t̶t̶y̶** **fluffy scenes written, it's just a matter of getting there haha.**

 **Until next chapter!**


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